#seeking answers without knives: answered

[orphanedshadow]

@valuvaris asked: ❝Please don’t eat me.❞ -

"What is it about me that makes people assume I want to eat them? Or that I would not at least kill them first."

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Flesh Wound - Dr. Jack Abbot x chef!reader

Summary: 2.5k words. Dr. Abbot's wife's cancels date night after suffering a kitchen mishap. In an effort to avoid adding to his stress, she takes herself--and her bloody hand--to the Pitt without telling him.

Warnings: canon-typical gore, blood, graphic descriptions of wounds, & knives. Colorful language, per usual. Implied age gap. breaking select grammar rules because I can. not beta read.

a/n: This got away from me and is longer than necessary lmao. I’m not in love with it, but I need to get it out of my brain and drafts so it stops plaguing me. Enjoy my first Pitt fic! Divider credit!

“Fuck!” you hissed. The kitchen came to a standstill around you; your cooks, dishwashers, and wait staff suddenly focused on the angry gash on your hand.

Abby’s was your pride and joy. Back in the day, culinary school felt like a gamble and then some. Today, you thank your lucky stars that it panned out well. The restaurant you’d built from the ground up was often featured in local publications and had grown into a neighborhood hub—it was a success from the day you first opened the doors to the public.

On days you didn’t stay at work for the full evening rush—like tonight, when you had your silver fox of a husband waiting at home with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the full Netflix catalogue at your fingertips—you at least made sure to come in for a couple hours in the afternoon to help set up and ensure your staff had all the support they needed for a successful night.

Amid prep work for a new dish you were piloting, you looked away at just the wrong moment when your name was called, resulting in the unmistakable piercing feeling shooting through your hand. You’d nicked yourself. Well, more than nicked yourself, because you were now bleeding at a rate that would have Javadi passed out cold on the floor.

This certainly wasn’t your first knife injury and probably wouldn’t be your last. You haphazardly cleaned up your station as best you could while holding pressure to the wound with a towel. Accidents happen to everyone, no matter how long they’ve been in the industry. That didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing to slice your palm open in front of the staff who were supposed to look up to you. 

You bit your lip and willed the tears to stay at bay after closing your office door. You tried taking deep breaths as you sat on the edge of your desk. In for 4, out for 8. In for 5, out for 10.

It didn’t help much.

This hurts like a bitch, you cursed through the unrelenting stinging. It was worse than any other kitchen injuries you’d had in recent memory. You remembered your husband rambling about how the hands were one of the most highly vascularized parts of the body. When it bleeds, it bleeds, he said to you. You were acutely aware of that now.

The bleeding wasn’t showing signs of stopping anytime soon, even after you’d soaked through two hand towels. Jack had taught you quite a bit of first aid and then some over the years, but even you recognized that you couldn’t patch yourself up. When a little fuzzy feeling began to sink in, you knew it was time to seek medical attention from a professional who wouldn’t spiral at the mere notion of you being harmed.

Sure, you could’ve called your trauma doctor husband, who seldom went anywhere without his ‘go bag’, but that would make too much sense. You didn’t want Jack to worry about you. He did anyway, but you didn’t want to add to his stress. The salt and pepper hair suited him well–you frequently reminded him when you carded your fingers through his curls–but if he went full-on gray, you might be accused of grave robbing.

“Doctor Abbot speaking,” the man grunted in greeting. The trauma doc hadn’t looked at the caller ID before answering. Or maybe his mind was still filled with the post-night shift sleep haze.

“Hey, honey,” you smiled through the phone despite your barely contained anxiety. The fresh towel you left the restaurant with was quickly turning crimson. The walk to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was 15 minutes, and you prayed that you’d make it there before the towel was soaked through or before you passed out—whichever would come first.

Your voice washed over Jack like warm honey. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed deeply. Per usual, he hadn’t realized how tense he was until you dissolved his stress.

“Hello, my beautiful wife,” he flirted through the phone, the corners of his lips ticking up into a smile. Several years into your relationship, he could still make you blush.

“I know we planned to stay in tonight and watch a movie, but I’m gonna have to stay at the restaurant late. We got slammed, and I need to make sure the team has everything they need.” That counted as a white lie, right? Jack and his wife didn’t keep secrets. But this time, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, you rationalized. You would tell him once you were all stitched up, snuggling at home with him, and not pale as a ghost. You would tell him when you could laugh about it, at how silly the oopsie you made in the kitchen was. Right now you were not laughing.

Abbot nodded, though you couldn’t see it. Your dedication to making sure your staff were taken care of was admirable; you were always so attentive, caring, and considerate. But selfishly, Jack would’ve given his other leg to spend a night with his wife. 

It wasn’t like you both weren’t used to taking rainchecks. Sometimes chefs called out sick and you had to step up, or put out metaphorical and literal fires. Other times, Jack’s pager seemed to be determined to set a record for most received messages.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. We can do something tomorrow.” It was a promise they’d hold each other to.

Years in service to the military and working in healthcare–emergency medicine, no less–meant he was used to change and could be flexible, to say the least. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be miserable to everyone around him until he saw his wife again.

Keeping a low profile at the Pitt was damn near impossible given your reputation.

The ER staff were well acquainted with Dr. Abbot’s wife, the pretty lady who brought them food. It started when you brought Jack dinner, and then Dana too. Sometimes Robby if you caught him at the right time. Eventually, you’d occasionally drop off catering-sized orders from Abby’s to be shared amongst the Pitt staff, just because.

A concerning majority of the providers, nurses, techs, RTs, and radiology staff survived 13-hour shifts on protein bars and far more milligrams of caffeine than was considered safe for human consumption. (It was a good thing they had plenty of 12 leads and crash carts full of pharm goodies for when a staff member inevitably developed a caffeine-induced dysrhythmia.) When the smell of Dr. Abbot’s wife’s food filled the Pitt, they knew they were in for a treat.

“You got any food for us, Mrs. Abbot?” Lupe asked as you approached the thick registration desk glass, before her eyes fell to your hand cradled against your chest. Definitely not catering.

Unfortunately for you, the third towel was fully saturated by the time you made it through the lobby’s double doors. The fuzzy feeling from earlier was quickly advancing to woozy.

Lupe and Dana brought you straight back from triage, effectively bumping you to the top of the queue. Maybe it wasn’t entirely according to hospital policy, but they’d never hear the end of it from Abbot if he found out his wife was stuck in a waiting room while she bled out.

“Everything is still attached, but the cut’s deep,” you relayed to Dana, who hummed as she peeled back the towel to assess the damage.

“Your husband know you’re here?” Dana asked, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. She knew the answer based on the fact that Abbot hadn’t tore through the damn building to get to you. Yet, anyway. She more so asked to give you a chance to reflect on your dumb decision to not inform your husband.

“I don’t want to stress him out. Please don’t tell him?” You pleaded.

“I won’t say anything, but I can’t control what happens when he sees his last name on the wrong part of the status board.” Her emphasis on when made it clear that it was only a matter of time, not if.

Of course he would pick up a shift once his evening freed up. He was a workaholic, but so were you. Birds of a feather.

When Doctor Robinavitch and Javadi pulled back the room’s curtain, Dana did the talking–nausea was setting in along with a wicked headache. You refused to look at the laceration at this point, eyes trained on the ceiling tiles above you.

“BP is soft,” Robby observed. Dana nodded while holding pressure to the wound with gauze. “Let’s start some IV fluids to get it back up; you definitely had some blood loss today.” Not helping, you thought as another wave of nausea rolled through you.

“She said she doesn’t want Dr. Abbot to know, and I’m not about to get in the middle of that. Plus, provider-patient confidentiality,” Robby finished with a shrug to Dana at the nurse’s station.

“Who doesn’t want me to know what?” Abbot asked, cosmic timing seemingly on his side. He was here far earlier than he needed to be for his shift, but he had nothing better to do Better than sulking at home, missing his wife. He’d still miss her while he was working, but at least he’d have an active distraction. His grip was firm on the strap of his camo backpack slung over his shoulder.

Robby groaned and his eyes scrunched shut as he slowly turned to face the night shift attending. Dana answered the nurse’s station phone within a nanosecond of the first shrill ring, leaving Robby to fend for himself.

Abbot looked at him expectantly, his patience quickly waning. Robby shook his head and vaguely nodded his head backwards, simply sighing “room 4” before getting back to work. Jack didn’t press for more info, just crossed the Pitt with long, purposeful strides. His heart dropped and the world around him slowed when he saw his wife laying back on a gurney, hooked up to IV fluids with gauze around her hand.

He didn’t bother to knock before entering, yanking the curtain open with an abrasive tug. He immediately started scanning you head to toe and noted the color drained from your face, a bloody rag in the biohazard bin, and the remnants of a suture kit in the waste bin.

“Baby, what the hell happened?” Jack asked, wild eyes bouncing between the vitals monitor to your tired form. You squeezed her eyes shut and cursed the fact that PTMC was the closest ER to Abby’s.

“I told Robby not to call you,” you grumbled. Your husband grunted.

“He didn’t call me. I picked up a shift.” You knew Jack wasn’t upset with you directly. Seeing you in the same department where patients regularly coded and trauma alerts rolled through at light speed to the trauma bay unnerved him.

You felt a twang of guilt in your chest. Jack wouldn’t have come in on his first night off in a while if you hadn’t canceled date night. And date night wouldn’t have been canceled if you’d just been paying more attention in the kitchen. You extended your unaffected hand to your husband and he grasped it in an instant. 

His tense shoulders and tight jaw gave him away. You hated to see him needlessly stressed, but it also warmed you in an odd way—how lucky you are to have someone care for you so deeply. Someone as weathered and worn as Jack, who has seen his fair share of trauma and then some, loves you to the point of worry. What a privilege that is.

Jack’s shift technically didn’t start for another 20 minutes. He had every intention of spending those minutes right by your side.

Saved by the bell a few minutes before shift change, Robby came back in for rounds, tailed by Javadi (who, to her credit, did not pass out at the sight of copious blood flowing from your hand earlier). “Hey, love birds,” Robby greeted with a grin. Abbot’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line while you smiled weakly back at the attending and the med student who followed him around like a little duckling.

Dr. Robinavitch gestured for Javadi to present the case to Dr. Abbot. The poor girl looked like a deer caught in headlights at the harsh stare Abbot pinned her with. Her gaze bounced from your joined hands back to the attending before she cleared her throat and began. Javadi described the depth of the laceration and the amount of stitches required, topical TXA, IV fluid bolus and subsequent drip for hypotension. Jack forced air from his nose before inhaling again, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Princess will be in shortly with your discharge paperwork and home care instructions,” Robby winked as he left you and Abbot by yourselves. Jack snorted. There was no way in hell you’d be caring for the wound yourself, not if he could help it.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Jack’s voice was quiet. He wasn’t mad, but rattled. You twisted your mouth to the side, feeling a bit of shame. This wasn’t how you imagined your evening going.

“Technically, I did… on my walk here…” you offered. It sounded weak even to your ears. Jack deadpanned. It didn’t land well. You sighed and rolled to face your husband fully. “I didn’t want you to worry about me,” you whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t betray you. Jack pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’m always going to worry about you, sweetheart. Because I love you.” His fingers traced your jawline. Jack, who woke up with night terrors well over a decade after the war-torn atrocities he’d seen, gazed at you tenderly. You had half a mind to make a ‘Tis but a scratch joke, but figured that might send him over the edge.

“I love you too.” It wasn’t a reply, it was a promise. Jack kissed the back of your hand, your fingers intertwined until he had to go.

Dr. Robinavitch hung around until he was satisfied with your blood pressure so he could drive you home. Even if you had politely declined, he would’ve stayed. Abbot certainly wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it if his wife had to take a taxi home from the ER. Robby guided you toward the exit, holding your bag and his. Gotta keep our patient satisfaction scores up.

Jack doffed his gloves while he jogged to meet you before you reached the door. He blindly tossed the blue nitrile gloves in the direction of the nearest waste bin, not bothering to check if he made it in. But they had, because of course they would. Cocky motherfucker.

Jack wordlessly pulled you to him, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand holding your head to his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

“Take it easy, okay?” The two of you could’ve been slow dancing in a burning room, but Jack wouldn’t have noticed. He tuned out the constant buzz of the Pitt and focused solely on you. You offered your free hand up for a pinkie promise.

If the med students and interns saw Dr. Abbot go soft—oh so whipped for his wife—and make a pinkie promise, they knew better than to say anything about it.

a/n: Reblogs & comments are much appreciated 🥰

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[yandere-sins]

Hi! I saw the request that involved the poly trio of the yan! Ghost, the darling and darlings best friend (reader) and it honestly just scratched my brain perfectly.

So if it's alr, I was wondering if it would work with Konig? I know he isn't really one for sharing in the slightest, but perhaps if he found himself vaugly fond of us, as while I'd imagine the darling being a ballsy, hothead- we'd be quiet and meek like in the Ghost fic and perhaps that while darling was definitely the center of attention, that reader was easier to deal with because of no kicking or screaming or hateful words and he'd perhaps just occasionally give us a pat or seek attention from us when things were rougher than usual with darling?

Perhaps this prompt would be darling went after Konig's gun or smth a bit ago and maybe he's currently fuming and darling is locked in a bathroom or smth and we maybe attempt to be the peacekeeper and try to smooth things over? (Not because we want to be nice, but because we know it's better when Konig and darling are calm rather than there being screaming and violence) and we try to meekly approach and convince him to calm down some? Sorry if this didn't make much sense and I really like your writing!

Thank you for requesting!! I hope I came close to your idea! ^-^

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

You flinched when the bathroom door was slammed shut, almost slipping from the carrot you were cutting, but luckily, the knife missed your fingers. The screaming and fighting had finally ceased, but you didn't know who won this time as you continued to prepare dinner. However, the answer was easily determined as König stepped out of the hallway and into the living room, the fabric mask on his head moving as he shook his head.

"Scheiße," he muttered, and you put down the knife, knowing the sound would agitate him more. Scheiße meant shit, you knew that by now. He wasn't happy, it seemed. The knife made a soft clink! as you laid it flat on the countertop and he whipped around towards you, both of you startling like two deers in the headlights, and you muttered a soft, "Sorry..." while you two tried to gauge each other's intentions.

It wasn't like your captor was really terrible to you. Indifferent suited your relationship best, and you liked it that way, hating it when the attention was on you. His attention had proven to be obsessive, violent at best, from what you witnessed. It was a relief that the focus was more on your best friend than you. It was her that he was concerned about, her that he wanted. And you were just a means to an end for your friend to like him more. Their third-wheeling pet, basically, even though it was an awful situation for both your friend and you.

For a while, no one said anything. The situation was tense enough that your nervous babbling might have made him explode. König never touched you, never hurt you in the ways he did to your best friend. Subjectively, she was much worse off than you were. Still, you could never know when that giant of a man would finally snap, and you didn't want to be within his reach at that moment.

"I just..." he started, heaving another deep sigh and gripping his forehead. With his weird mask on, he looked comically like a killer from a movie, but you realized early that he wasn't that hard to read even without seeing his face. "She grabbed the gun, okay?! Why would she do that! It's dangerous! She could have gotten hurt!"

Nodding, you played along. Of course, you knew why your friend grabbed the gun, but you chose not to tell him. On this planet, you were the last person that wanted to upset him—your friend did that well enough. It hadn't been her first attempt at getting rid of him. She was righteous to the core, fuelled by courage and almost stupidly confident in what she was doing. You admired her for it, considering you were the one always close to knives yet too afraid to even use them.

You could never be her. It was just too scary to think about.

"I don't get it..." König grumbled, grabbing his wrists and anxiously twisting them in his grip. For someone confident enough to capture two people and lock them in his apartment in a make-shift family situation, you came to realize his anxiety was pretty terrible. He seemed a little happier when you all sat down to eat together or watch a movie. Still, usually, he was a nervous, pacing wreck who got desperate when your friend refused him any kindness.

But on the other hand, you had all the time in the world to observe. You noticed every fidgeting of his hands, even underneath the table. You caught all the badly-hidden attempts to flirt with your friend and how she simply didn't notice. By now, you could even tell if he was frowning or smiling underneath the shirt, just from the look in his eyes. It was the best you could do in this situation, but it helped, occasionally.

He looked downright scary now. You didn't like him when he was a soft-spoken fool in love, but it was worse like this. Just how were you supposed to act? How could you not make yourself a target while also helping your friend, who probably banged and locked the door behind her in an attempt to get away from him? The hide-and-seek the two often played when things got rough almost always ended in either a broken door or your friend starving herself for days while you had to deal with an irate kidnapper. If possible, you wanted to avoid that.

"It's... it's really dangerous."

"Right?! I've told her, I—"

König stopped mid-pace and slowly, suspiciously, turned around, his sentence coming to an abrupt halt. Even laid in shadows, you saw his eyes widen, then narrow, his invisible eyebrows raising in surprise before they furrowed. His sudden doubt was no surprise—you had never agreed with him before. And although he seemed like one sometimes, he wasn't as much of a fool as it might appear. Even if you were just the pet, the extra—a side character in a story that did not involve you, you had never tried interfering before, always too scared to be the next target on either's hit list. Tensions were high, and maybe it wasn't the right moment to play devil's advocate. But maybe there was some kind of role in this play. Maybe you could change the story after all.

"I think she was just so scared; she didn't think about herself getting hurt."

"What..." he gulped, still not so sure if he should entertain this conversation with you. However, his curiosity won over. "What is she scared of?"

You felt the thin ice you were treading with your intervention crack beneath your bare feet. You! was the obvious answer to König's question. She's scared of you, idiot!

But you wouldn't say it. Wouldn't put either of you captives into this position of angering him deliberately.

"B-Burglars," you stuttered out, the first best thing that came to mind. Stupid, fucking stupid. The front door itself was locked better than Fort Knox. This was the highest building of a highrise. How was anyone going to break into here?

And yet, König stilled. He didn't move an inch, although his eyes seemed to fixate on you, and you felt the sweat pearl on your face. He knew it was a lie; he must have known that it was a really, really bad lie, too.

"Are you also scared of burglars?" he asked all of a sudden, and you froze, not expecting the question. This could have been the point where König decided that you were a useless accessory, and you wouldn't have been surprised if he had just picked you up and thrown you against a wall to end your existence.

Perhaps your fear had driven you mad.

"Y-Yes?" you breathed out, sounding like a question rather than the obvious statement you should have made. "Are you?"

Biting your tongue, you watched as König crossed his arms. His shoulders fell, his posture growing less tense and more thoughtful as he looked up at the ceiling that he almost hit with his head. It wasn't before long that you heard the long drag of his breath before he sighed, letting his head fall forward. There were two short jerks of his head downwards, almost like a nod to himself, and then he looked up. Really looked at you. He only needed three steps with his long legs to cross the distance between you and him, and you tumbled back in fear, leaving the knife on the kitchen counter like a dumbass.

That's it, you thought. That's how it ends.

"You go for their weak points," König mumbled, gesturing towards his stomach. "When it's obvious that it's a man, you kick him right here."

Pointing his hands downwards, your eyes made an instinctual glance before you caught yourself, immediately avoiding looking at your captor's crotch for more than the millisecond you already had.

"Verstanden?"

That meant, "Understood?" You were learning German bit by bit. You gave a short nod, and it made König hum in approval.

"Gut." (That meant "good.")

"Now, for a woman, you can do that, but it won't be as effective. You should—wait, I'll show you."

You flinched as König raised his hand, his palm settling at the back of your head. There was so much confusion about the sudden self-defense he spoke of, but when he grabbed a handful of hair, you winced out of pure fear, although the grip wasn't strong at all. When he guided your body and head forward, you did as you were instructed, with absolutely no resistance now that you were at his mercy. He could probably snap your neck just by yanking your head hard if he wanted, so there was nothing you could do but follow.

"You grab the woman and kick her leg-" he tapped the tip of his foot against your shin to demonstrate, "-and when she loses balance, you slam her head into a surface. Downwards is more effective, but a wall will do."

With more gentleness than you thought he could muster, he forced your head forward, almost close enough to hit the kitchen counter. You whimpered as you feared for a moment that he'd actually give you a demonstration of what he was telling you.

"And not like that," König explained, tapping your forehead on the solid surface. "But like this."

And then, out of nowhere, he yanked your hair back, and you had not even one second to catch your breath before he drove your head forward again with such skilled fluidity that your life flashed before your eyes.

It was like all your senses had given out from shock, but the pain that you expected never came. The back of your scalp was a little itchy and agitated from the pulling, but you expected your head to be smashed in would hurt a bit more than just the feeling of him tugging at your hair.

Slowly, you opened an eye, trying to see what had happened. When your sight adjusted, you saw the marbled countertop just inches away from you. Reaching up, you grabbed the edge with both your hands, making the situation more real as you realized nothing had happened. You didn't hit the counter, and you didn't die.

Your knees began to wobble as tears filled your eyes. This was terrible, the situation was one nightmare after another. But you were so thankful to still be alive. König's body shifted closer to yours as he leaned forward, his hand still locked in your hair. "Verstanden? Don't be forgiving. It's you or the burglar, and they won't show you or your friend any mercy. You need to know how to protect her."

You gave a slight, faint nod as his fingers unwound from your hair, although his touch lingered. Awkwardly, he stroked down your shuffled hair twice, patting you lightly between your shoulders as you wouldn't move from your bowed position.

"Good. You're a good learner. Next time, I'll bring you a training partner to practice."

Much to your own surprise, you managed to give a short hum in reply before your knees finally broke away beneath the stress, and you sunk to the ground. It scared König almost as much as you, but you barely noticed his fussing until he picked you up, a squeal escaping you as you were lifted even higher than the kitchen counter was.

"Mein Gott, you are both so frail! Why do you two always refuse to eat meals when you are that easy to pick up? You'll surely get kidnapped one day; that's why good food is so wichtig."

With your heart pounding out of your chest, it was hard to keep up your broken understanding of the German language. He exclaimed something sounding like my god, and from his wording, the phrase he used sounded almost important—was that what the other word meant?

The irony of him thinking you could get kidnapped passed you by with the shock.

König settled you down on the living room sofa, and you breathed a sigh of relief as his arms vanished, the immediate danger in your life moving away, only to stand barely a breath away from you, arms akimbo as he mustered you from high above. You tugged in your legs, hugging them to your chest in an attempt to feel any sense of security.

What should you do now? How could you continue being a good friend while also saving your own life?

You learned a few things that evening—mainly how to defend yourself. Learned it from the man you wish you could protect against. Your friend was bold and rebellious, but you, too, had it in you to make a change. König was crazy out of love for her, but he wasn't as ruthless as you thought him to be. You'd even go as far as to say he was overprotective and a bit paranoid, which played right into your hands.

"Are..." you scrambled, your throat dried out from screams you didn't know you held back, every word you wanted to say scratching along it like his fingers had against your scalp. "Are we... wichtig? To you?"

There was a painful silence for a few seconds, and you only dared one glance upwards at his face, his eyes returning to being unreadable.

"Of course you are! You two are the most important things in my life— I mean... Your... your friend is the most important person to me, but you are wichtig, too! You are, you... well, du bist du, and that's good!"

You were stunned as you listened to him blabber on as if embarrassed. And no second later that König said his piece, he stomped off, seemingly agitated. You heard him knock twice on the bathroom door, calling for your friend to come out and have dinner with you. The next thing was the unlocking and slamming of another door, followed by many locks being put in place on the outside.

Du bist du, the sentence slowly registered in your mind. You are you, and that was all you were to him, but for some reason, it felt good. Comforting. You are you, and that's good. The words kept repeating in your mind. It was vague, but given how König seemed to be a vague person, this was better than being no one, right?

You heard the creaking of a door before tiny, barely audible taps closed in on the living room. Your friend didn't look much better than you must have after the whole ordeal, but her gaze was filled with confusion and sparks of awe.

"What did you do?" she asked you. "You made him leave us here?"

"I don't know," you mumbled, touching the back of your sore scalp. "I told him you took a gun because you were scared of burglars, and he showed me how to defend myself, and I don't know what happened then; it was all so fast."

"Oh my god..." your friend whispered. "That is the chance! Now, we can find a way to get out or get help! Come on!"

She dashed back into the hallway before you could even agree to her plans. But all your courage, all the fight you had when you tried to mingle into their affairs, seemed to have left you. You may have learned a lot that evening, but it also made you realize you knew something she didn't.

You two were important to König. One way or another.

Even if it meant teaching you how to defeat someone, even if it meant putting himself in danger, König was keen to use all the tools he had to protect what was important to him. However, you were no fool to think he'd let you get too comfortable with the strength and tools he was giving you. Because the truth was something only he and you were sure of now:

You'd never defeat him.

[toastandjamie]

I like thinking about how the trauma of the series effects the Ta’veren boys and the Wondergirls- but like- have we considered how absolutely messed up, feral and dangerous Olver will be as an adult?

This kid spent his formative years participating in an active war zone. He rarely spent time with his peers instead spending time among a bunch of soldiers- not even just soldiers, mercenaries- many of which were barely adults themselves and had zero experience with raising children. His main caretaker is a dude who up until this point has not matured a day past sixteen and liked it that way. Despite Mat’s best efforts, none of them had a clue what they were doing. Now if Olver was just a little socially stunted from trauma and lack of friendships with peers that would be one thing- but this kid has also been taught an eclectic number of skills most of which are related to violence.

We are told directly that Mat and the other men in the band have taught Olver how to use: crossbows, longbows, swords, spears, and throwing knives. Kid has a whole ass arsenal he can use. He was given ample practice with both horse riding and care. Thom was teaching him to play the flute and juggle. Cards, dice, flirting with women, dancing, stones, the basics of daes de mar- stealing horses. This kid was raised as a soldier, a thief and a noble.

That’s just what we get in the books- let’s say Olver stays with Mat post-canon and is raised in Seanchen occupied Ebou Dar alongside Mat and Tuon’s child. Any skills Olver learned among the band would only perfected among the Seanchen blood.

Olver states multiple times his intention to go to the tower of ghenji and seek the Finn’s answers and gifts- now let’s say Olver manages this without Mat catching him and keeping him from doing this- the amount of possibilities for what Olver could attain from the Finn of he survived the trip is astounding. He is also fueled by a desire for revenge against the Shaido for killing his father and driving him and his mom from Cairihan resulting in her death. And famously having a revenge motive in fiction is a flashing Danger sign.

Olver and Tuon have a lot in common, small and unassuming on the surface but we’re raised to be dangerous. Raised to always be alert and ready for anything. They are both trained killers from the time they were young. Their formative years spent learning that the world is cruel and the only way to survive is by being smarter, faster, and stronger than your opponents.

This isn’t even considering any specialized training he may receive, from groups like the deathwatch guard or even warders depending on the circumstances. Or the possibility of Olver being a channeler which is always a possibility. Olver would be exceptionally dangerous as an adult- and depending on how the others in his life care for him post tarmengedon he could be a genuine threat to the dragons peace of he decides that All Aiel are guilty for the actions of the Shaido. He could also follow in Mat’s footsteps however and dedicate himself to protecting those in his life currently. The possibilities- my brain is whirring

[fuzzyautumninmetal]

Mi amor

I am working on Loving Husband pt 4 and something for Gaz. Just kinda hit a roadblock so I wrote something for Alejandro to get the gears working again

Alejandro Vargas x Fem!Reader

MDNI

In the tapestry of love, where threads of trust and affection intertwine, a sinister shadow had crept into your heart. Alejandro Vargas, the man you had cherished with all your being, was weaving a web of deceit that threatened to unravel the fabric of your relationship. Night after night, You would lie awake, your mind tormented by the tell-tale marks that adorned his neck. Hickeys and lipstick stains, like crimson whispers, betrayed his unfaithfulness. Yet, with each feeble excuse he offered, you clung to the desperate hope that it was all a misunderstanding.

The kisses you shared had lost their spark, replaced by a cold and distant formality. His embrace, once warm and comforting, now felt hollow and insincere. The touch that had once ignited a fire within you now left you feeling empty and unfulfilled. Driven by a gnawing suspicion, you confronted Alejandro, your voice trembling with both fear and anticipation. To you dismay, he dismissed your concerns with a nonchalant shrug, as if they were mere trifles. "It's nothing, mi amor" (my love) he insisted, his eyes meeting yours with a flicker of guilt.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at him, the pain slicing through your chest like a sharp blade. How could he be so cruel, so blatant about his betrayal? Alejandro's words hung heavy in the air, a palpable tension settling between you two. A part of him wanted to reassure you, to ease the worry etched on your face, but another part of him revelled in the chaos he'd created.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He could feel you tremble under his touch, your body betraying you despite your best efforts to remain composed. Alejandro leaned closer, his lips just inches away from yours. You smelled sweet, like fresh strawberries, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of deception that lingered in his mouth. With a smirk playing on his lips, he pulled back, his gaze never leaving yours.

A lump formed in your throat as you fought back tears, your heart pounding against your rib cage like a trapped bird desperately seeking freedom. The hurt was overwhelming, the pain raw and intense. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to demand answers. But instead, you remained silent, your gaze locked onto his, searching for some semblance of truth in those dark, deceiving eyes.

Alejandro turned without another word and left the home you shared for the night. You didn't know if he was going back to her or if he was spending the night at base. Either way you didn't care anymore. You couldn't care. You couldn't do this. 

As the door closed behind him, the echoes of your sobs reverberated throughout the house, piercing his heart like a thousand knives. Each wail was a reminder of the damage he had caused, the lives he had shattered. And yet, he found himself unable to turn back, to mend what he had broken.

His mind raced with thoughts, each one more tormenting than the last. He could see you, curled up on their bed, weeping uncontrollably, your body wracked with grief. He could hear you, pleading with him to explain, begging for an answer that he simply did not have. He made his way to the base, the familiar sounds and sights offering little comfort. As he sat alone in the darkness, he could almost see your face, your eyes filled with despair. 

You spent the rest of the night alone, your body numb from the emotional turmoil. Your heart ached, the pain radiating outward until it consumed every inch of you. The world around you blurred, the colours fading into shades of grey, mirroring the emptiness that now resided within you. You curled up on the bed, the sheets still warm from his touch, a haunting reminder of his betrayal. You cried until there were no more tears, until your throat was raw and your eyes were swollen shut.

You weren't going to do this anymore, you weren't going to be his pretty little house wife that kept her mouth shut anymore. Without a second thought you began packing, you only pack the essentials as Alejandro could come back any second and convince you to stay with his sweet words and promises.

The morning light cast a harsh glare over the deserted streets, highlighting the dust particles suspended in the air. It was a new day, a new beginning, but for Alejandro, it brought with it a sense of dread and unease.

He had spent the remainder of the night wrestling with his conscience, the ghosts of his past mistakes haunting him relentlessly. He knew what he had done was wrong, that he had crossed a line he shouldn't have. But it was too late for regrets, too late for apologies.

As he made his way back to the house, he could sense your presence, could feel your anger and resentment emanating from the very walls. He stood outside, hesitating before finally mustering the courage to walk inside. But it was too late. You had already packed your bags, your decision final.

Two years. Two years since you walked away from him, from the life you both had built, from the love that had once felt like an anchor. You were a Sergeant now, a cog in the machine of Task Force 141. Your days were filled with the guttural roar of engines, the metallic tang of blood, and the constant hum of adrenaline.

Two years to Alejandro... It seemed like an eternity, a lifetime spent in regret and remorse. The pain was still fresh, the wound still raw, but time had dulled the sharp edges, making it bearable. He was successful, respected, feared even. But it all felt empty, hollow. There was a void in his heart, a space once occupied by love and affection, now filled with bitterness and resentment.

Did Alejandro miss you? Yes, he missed your smile, your laughter, your touch. But he also missed the fights, the make-ups, the sex, the simple routine of living together.

In the dim, amber-hued glow of the pub, the jubilant laughter of Task Force 141 echoed through the air. After a perilous and triumphant mission, Price had gathered the team for a well-deserved celebration and a good catch up with old friends from a past mission. One you weren't apart of.

As the door swung open, the chatter subsided momentarily. Your eyes scanned the crowded room, but your heart jumped to your throat when they landed on Alejandro. Dressed in his signature dark attire, his rugged features were as handsome as you remembered. Time seemed to stand still as your gaze locked with his.

Alejandro's breath hitched, a sudden tightness forming in his chest as his gaze collided with yours. Your presence was undeniable, your essence filling the room, clouding his senses. For a moment, he was transported back to their shared past, to the warmth of their shared moments.

He tried to shake off the feeling, to dismiss it as mere nostalgia, but it was too strong, too real. His heart pounded against his ribs, a wild rhythm that echoed the chaotic symphony of his conflicted emotions. He raised his hand, signalling for a drink. His fingers wrapped around the glass, the cold liquid doing nothing to quell the burning sensation in his gut.

You spent 2 years not thinking about Alejandro. The feelings you once felt you pushed away, stored them in a box and placed in the depth of your mind. But seeing him here. Right now. Brought them all back, the love, the hate, the longing for him. All came back just like that and you hated yourself for it.

You took a deep breath, pushed some strands of hair out of your face and put on a smile as you sat next with the rest of your team. Did they know? About you and Alejandro? About what he did?

His eyes remained fixed on you, watching as you settled among your companions. A part of him wanted to approach you. But another part, a smaller but louder voice, urged caution. He downed his drink in one go, the alcohol burning a path down his throat. It was a bitter taste, but it served its purpose - it numbed the ache in Alejandro's heart, if only for a fleeting moment. He ordered another drink, his gaze never leaving yours. This time, however, he wasn't sure if he was challenging fate or merely prolonging the inevitable.

"Aye, come on lass" Soap wiggled his eyebrows as he put his arm on the table. The whole team have been trying to get you to have an arm wrestle with Soap.

"No because the last time I did that the fucker nearly broke my arm." You laughed as you kept declining but they wouldn't give up.

"You won't be put on cleaning duties for a week!" Price negotiated. Giving you a deal you couldn't refuse. "Fine" You rolled your eyes with a smile as you hooked your hand with Soaps. 

Alejandro's heart skipped a beat as he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief. He found himself drawn to you, captivated by the sight of you. Despite everything, to Alejandro you were still beautiful, still irresistible. He watched as you declined the challenge, your refusal met with teasing remarks from the others. Seeing you relent, your resolve crumble under pressure, stirred something within him. Alejandro found himself rooting for you, silently willing you to win.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you gripped Soap's hand, the thrill of competition sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You could almost hear the whispers of encouragement from your teammates, their voices echoing in your ears like a chorus of support. Your muscles flexed, your biceps straining under the weight of Soap's formidable grip. A few beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, stinging your eyes as you dug deep, pushing past the limits of your endurance.

"Joder. Mierda. Cabrón" (Fuck. Shit. Bastard) You mutter through gritted teeth. A small habit you picked up from Alejandro. A small habit that you do subconsciously.

His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the rhythmic clench and release of his fist. He watched intently as you struggled against Soap, his own competitive nature kicking in. A surge of pride welled up within him, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Your resilience, your determination, they reminded him of you, of who you used to be. You were fierce, unyielding, a force to be reckoned with. And yet, there was something endearing about it, something that tugged at his heartstrings.

"Vamos, mi amor," (Come on, my love) he murmured under his breath, urging her on despite himself.

With every ounce of strength left in you body, you push against Soap. Sweat drips down your face as you feel your arm shaking. Your knuckles turn white as you dig your nails into the flesh of Soap's hand. 'This is it... I can either give up or keep going...' You think to yourself as you take a deep breath before giving one final push. Your arm shakes violently but you hold on. You manage to push Soap's hand down first and you let out a victory roar.

The room erupted in cheers and applause, the noise drowning out the pounding of his heart in his ears. He watched, transfixed, as you raised your arms in triumph, your face flushed with exertion and victory. There was something about you, something raw and untamed, that drew him in. It was the same thing that had initially attracted him to you, the same spark that had ignited their relationship all those years ago.

A thought crossed his mind, a question that lingered in the depths of his consciousness: Was it possible to forgive and forget? Or would the past always haunt him, no matter how hard he tried to move forward?

"You owe me a drink MacTavish!" You ruffled Soaps hair as you sat back down. You glanced at Alejandro before quickly looking away. Time has been kind to him, god dammit he looks even sexier than when you first met him. Gaz, Ghost and Price noticed your glance and smirked at you. "I can introduce you?" Ghost offered but you quickly shut him down "I'm good." You grabbed your drink off Soap, "On that note I'm going for a smoke." You, rather quickly, made your way to the smoking area. Not giving Alejandro a second glance. 

As soon as you stood up, he moved swiftly, intercepting you before you could make your escape. His large hand gently grasping your upper arm, halting your progress. You stopped dead in your tracks as you felt his firm grasp around your arm. Your heart rate spiked as you turned to look at him.

"Un momento, mi amor," (One moment, my love) he said softly, his voice barely audible over the din of the bar. There was a certain urgency in his tone, a plea hidden beneath the calm exterior. His eyes bore into yours, searching for some sign of recognition, of understanding. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of his racing thoughts.

"I need to talk to you," he continued, his voice steady now, determined.

"We have nothing to talk about" You whispered harshly. A million thoughts raced through your head "And I am not your love anymore." You pulled away from him, your words slicing through him like a knife. He watched as you walked away, his gaze trailing after your retreating figure. For a moment, he simply stood there, rooted to the spot. The sting of rejection was sharp, a bitter pill that he had trouble swallowing. "But we did have something," he muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening into a fist at his side. 

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the best of him. Not now, not here. You lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The nicotine hit your system immediately and you closed your eyes letting the rush wash over you. "Mierda" (Shit) You cursed under your breath. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes never leaving you, watching as you inhaled deeply, the tip of the cigarette glowing brightly in the dim light.

His mind wandered back to the past, to the days when they were together. The memories flooded back, vivid and clear. The laughter, the passion, the love they shared. But then reality struck, like a punch to the gut. You were different now, changed by war and time. And so was he. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do next. He approached you slowly, his boots clicking against the concrete floor. Each step echoing in the silence, the tension hanging heavy between them.

"You know, I still remember our first kiss," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at you, his brown eyes holding an intensity that you haven't seen before. "It was at the beach. We went for a walk after our third date. You were wearing this tiny little dress, and your hair... it was loose, flowing around your shoulders." He paused, a soft smile gracing his lips. "And then you looked at me, with those beautiful eyes of yours. And everything else just disappeared."

Your eyes flickered to meet his. The intensity in his gaze made your stomach flutter and you quickly looked away. "¡Basta¡" (Stop it!) You spat. Your heart rate picked up as you remembered the first time you kissed him. How he tasted like tequila and desire. You threw the butt of the cigarette away and walked to the bathroom.

God damn him! Why does he have to be so fucking charming!

He watched her go, a frown creasing his forehead. Your reaction stung, but he wasn't deterred. If anything, it only spurred him on. 'I won't give up,' he thought, determination burning in his eyes. 'Not until she hears me out.' With newfound resolve, he strode towards the bathroom, his long strides eating up the distance between him and his goal.

You heard his footsteps approaching behind you and you quickened your pace. You knew if you didn't get away from him soon, you'd end up caving in and forgiving him for all his sins. You pushed open the door to the women's bathroom and stepped inside. You were alone, thank god. You sighed in relief and ran your hands through your hair. You needed a minute to collect yourself.

The door swung open with a force that echoed throughout the room, causing you to jump. You turned to see Alejandro standing there, his hands resting on his hips. His dark hair was dishevelled, strands falling onto his forehead.

"Mi amor" he began, his voice softer now, more pleading. "Please listen to me."

Alejandro took a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. The intensity in his gaze was almost palpable, a tangible thing that seemed to fill the small space between them.

"I made a mistake, okay? I fucked up. But I'm not asking you to forget about it. All I want is another chance. Just one more chance, mi amor." (my love)

Your heart hammered in your chest and you felt the familiar heat spreading across your cheeks. God damn him! "How dare you come in here!" You snapped, pointing towards the door. "Get out!" You turned your back to him and started rummaging through your bag. You needed to focus on something other than his presence. You grabbed your lipstick and started applying it, trying to ignore his presence.

He watched you, his gaze intense yet tender. He could sense your discomfort, the way your body stiffened whenever he got close. But he also saw the faint blush on your cheeks, the tell-tale sign of her attraction. He took a step back, his hands raised in surrender. "I just wanted to talk. That's all." He waited patiently, giving you the space you clearly needed. But his eyes never left your, his gaze unwavering.

You froze as you heard his voice. You could feel his eyes on you and it sent shivers down your spine. You finished applying your lipstick and placed the tube back into your bag. "We have nothing to talk about." You walked past him and left the bathroom, you needed to go home. You couldn't stay here. If you drink anymore you'll end up doing something stupid.

By doing you mean fucking.

And by stupid you mean Alejandro.

You walked to the table and grabbed your jacket, everyone looked at you weirdly but you said nothing. Without another glance you left the pub and went home. Watching you leave, Alejandro felt a pang of disappointment. He had hoped that tonight would be different, that maybe you would listen to him. But it seemed like you were determined to push him away.

As he watched you disappear into the night, he muttered under his breath,* "This isn't over." With renewed determination, he finished off his drink and headed to the hotel, vowing to find a way to win you back. You walked home feeling drained. You hated how easily Alejandro could make you feel things. You entered your apartment and locked the door behind you. You kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto your couch. You closed your eyes and tried to clear your mind. 

But all you could think about was Alejandro. 

About how his stubble used to scratch against your skin when he kissed you. About how his hands used to roam your body. About how he use to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. About how he used to make love to you.

Back at the hotel, Alejandro found himself unable to sleep. His mind kept replaying their last conversation, each word etched deeply within him. In the middle of the night, he decided to take action. He dressed quickly and headed out, destination - your apartment.

When he reached your place, he knocked softly on the door, hoping you would hear him over the pounding of his own heartbeat. You were woken abruptly to someone knocking on your door, you checked your phone to see it was 12 am. Who the fuck is knocking on your door at 12 am in the fucking morning? 

"Alright I'm coming. I'm coming" You grumbled as you tumbled out of bed and walked to the front door. You opened the door and didn't registers Alejandro straight away. After a moment of you blinking to wake up you finally recognised him. You scowled "What the fuck are you doing. It's 12 in the morning" 

His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at you through the crack in the door. You looked so beautiful, even at this hour. Your hair was tousled from sleep, some strands sticking to your face. Your eyes were heavy-lidded, your lips slightly parted. "I know it's late," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. "But I need to talk to you." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "It's important. Please."

"No" You said firmly and went to shut the door in his face. Caught off guard by your firm rejection, he stumbled back a step as you attempted to shut the door in his face. But he was quicker, stronger than you expected. With a swift move, he pushed the door open, stepping into your apartment.

You stood there frozen as Alejandro stepped inside your apartment. Your heart raced with anger. "Típica de mierda" (Fucking typical) Of course Alejandro just barges into your apartment, he was never good when being told no. "You can't just come into my home because you're not getting what you want!"

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He knew he'd fucked up, but he was here now, and he wasn't leaving without talking to you. "I know I don't deserve it," Alejandro admitted, looking you directly in the eye. "But please. Just hear me out." He took another step closer, reaching out to gently touch your arm. Despite his assertiveness, there was an underlying vulnerability in his tone that was hard to ignore.

You flinched as he touched your arm, you pulled away and crossed your arms over your chest. You glared at him defiantly "We have nothing to talk about." His heart sank as you pulled away from him. He could see the defiance in your eyes, the wall you had built around yourself. But he wasn't giving up just yet.

"We do," he insisted, taking a step closer. "There's a lot we need to discuss." He reached out again, touching your arm once more. This time, he held on tighter, not letting you pull away. You felt your blood boil as he touched you again. You wanted to slap him across the face but you restrained yourself. You were angry but you also missed him, you missed the way he used to look at you, the way he used to hold you close. You loved him despite everything. "No they're isn't"

His eyes softened as he looked at you, seeing the conflict in your gaze. He knew he had hurt you, but Alejandro also knew that you still cared for him. "There is," he insisted, holding onto your arm tightly. "And I won't leave until we've talked." He moved closer, standing mere inches away from you. He could smell your scent, the one that always drove him wild. He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against yours.

Your heart started to race as he got closer to you. You felt your knees go weak as he leaned in to kiss you. You moved your head back, away from his lips. "We don't have anything to talk about" You repeated. His eyes flickered with frustration as you continued to deny him, but he refused to give up. He needed to talk to you, to explain himself. "Yes, we do," he insisted, pinning you against the wall with his body. He leaned in closer, pressing his body flush against yours. He could feel your heart racing against his chest, and it only made him more determined.

You squirmed as he pressed his body against yours. You hated how good it felt, how right it felt to be this close to him again. You missed him more than you ever thought possible. "Let go of me Alejandro"

His grip tightened around your arm as you tried to push him away. He could feel your heart pounding beneath his chest, matching the rhythm of his own. "No," he murmured, leaning in closer. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. His lips traced along the skin of your collarbone, causing shivers to run down your spine.

You gasped as he kissed your neck, your body betraying you. You moaned softly as he trailed kisses down your collarbone. "You're an asshole" He chuckled softly, his lips trailing up to meet yours. The taste of your mouth was intoxicating, filling him with desire. "And you're still the most infuriating woman I know," he murmured against your lips. "But I'm not going anywhere until we've talked." You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kissed you. You kissed him back passionately, missing the way his lips felt against yours. You hated how much you missed him, how much you still loved him.

Alejandro groaned into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His hands moved from your arms to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against him. His tongue explored the depths of your mouth, tasting every inch of you. He could feel his arousal growing as you responded to his touch, your body melting against his own.

You kissed him back with more passion, your body betraying you. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue explored your mouth. You ran your fingers through his hair as he pick you up, with a low growl. He lifted you off your feet, wrapping your legs around his waist. He carried you over to the couch, setting you down gently before moving on top of you.

His lips found their way to your neck, nipping and kissing along the sensitive skin. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve and crevice. Alejandro's hands moved lower, slipping under your shirt to caress your stomach. He could feel your muscles tense under his touch, and he knew you were fighting your feelings for him.

"You still want me," he whispered against your ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. "Admit it." He ground his hips against yours, making sure you felt the hardness straining against his pants.

"I don't want you" You whispered as you bit your lip as his hands moved to unbutton your shirt, revealing your bare breasts. He gazed at them appreciatively before leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You hated how much you still wanted him, how much your body craved his touch.

"Liar" he murmured against your skin, sucking lightly on the hardened peak. He slid your shorts off, leaving you naked beneath him. His hand moved down between your thighs, rubbing teasing circles against your clit. "I can feel how much you want me," he whispered, leaning down to capture your lips in another searing kiss.

"I hate you" You mumbled against his lips as you reached for the hem of his shirt to take it off. He laughed softly, removing his shirt to reveal his muscular torso. His hand continued its exploration of your body, tracing down your thigh before returning to tease your clit.

"Don't pretend like you don't remember how good this feels," he murmured against your ear, nibbling lightly on the lobe. You arched your hips into his touch, moaning softly as he rubbed your clit. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on something else, anything else but the pleasure he was giving you "¡Cállate la boca!" (Shut your mouth)

He grinned, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Never" he breathed, before moving down your body. His lips trailed kisses down your stomach, stopping at your hips to nip playfully at the flesh there. His tongue flicked out to tease her clit, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. His hands held your hips down, keeping you in place as he explored you with his tongue.

"Puto cabrón" (Fucking asshole) You gasped, your body arching off the couch. your fingers finding home his Alejandro's hair.

He chuckled against you, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every fold and crevice of your cunt.

"Oh cariño..." (Oh darling) he murmured, looking up at you. "You taste even better than I remembered." His fingers joined in the pleasuring, sliding into your wetness. He began to pump them in and out slowly, curling them to hit all the right spots inside you.

Your body trembled under his touch, your breath coming in short gasps. You tried to push him away, but instead found yourself pushing your hips towards his face. He chuckled, continuing his assault on your cunt. His tongue delved deeper, fucking you with slow thrusts while his fingers pumped in and out of your tight hole. "Does my la angelita like that?" (little angel) he asked, nipping lightly at your inner thigh.

You glared down at him, your cheeks flushed with desire and anger. Your nails dug into his scalp as your legs started to shake. You were so close, so fucking close. He continued to lick and suck at you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. His fingers curled inside you, hitting just the right spot to send shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Come for me, mi amor" he cooed, nuzzling his face into her folds. You couldn't hold back any longer, your body convulsing as an orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, your voice echoing through the room as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Alejandro continued to lap at you, riding out your orgasm until you were left panting and spent beneath him. He finally pulled away, wiping his mouth on his forearm. "Still hate me?" He asked with a smirk, leaning down to give you a quick kiss on the lips. You panted heavily, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. You glared up at him, hating how much you enjoyed his touch, how much you craved his attention.

His dark eyes scanned your body, taking in your flushed state and tousled appearance. A wicked grin spread across his face as he leaned down to capture your lips in another passionate kiss. "I'm going to make you forget all about that hatred." He promised, trailing hot kisses down your neck.

You returned his kiss eagerly, despite yourself. You moaned softly as he kissed down your neck, shivering at the sensation of his stubble scratching against your sensitive skin. "Alejandro" you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and he picked you up and carried you to your bedroom. He laid you gently on the bed, his gaze roving over your body. He knelt beside you, his fingers ghosting along your thighs as he pushed them apart. You watched him intently, your heart pounding in your chest. You bit your lip nervously as he spread your legs, exposing you completely to his gaze.

"Alejandro" you whispered, reaching for him. But he evaded your grasp, choosing instead to lean down and run his tongue along your slit. He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your wet folds. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of your cunt.

"You're so delicious, mi amor" he murmured against you, before beginning to fuck you with his tongue. His hands held your hips down, keeping you in place as he drove you closer and closer to the edge once more.

"puto cabrón" (Fucking asshole) You whimpered and moaned, your body writhing beneath his touch. You clenched your fists in the sheets, desperately trying to hold onto some semblance of control. "No....no more." You tried to move away but his hold on your hips stopped you. "Alejandro please" You manage to choke out as you were becoming overstimulated "I....I can't."

Alejandro might not be able to make you forgive him but he will make you forget. For a while at least.

Ignoring your pleas, he continued to devour you. His tongue delved deeper, curling inside you to hit all the right spots. His hands gripped your hips tighter, preventing you from pulling away. "You can't what, mi amor? Can't come? Can't scream my name?" (my love) he teased, nipping lightly at your clit.

"No...I can't take anymore" You said between pants, your body shaking with need. You reached down to try and pull his head away from you, but he easily swatted your hand away. "Para por favor, Alejandro" (Please stop) you begged, tears pricking at your eyes.

He looked up at you, a devilish grin spreading across his face. His tongue slid lazily over your clit, giving it a light suck. "But mi amor," he murmured against you.

You whimpered, your body arching off the bed as another wave of pleasure rolled through you. You clenched your teeth together, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to escape. "Shut up!" You snapped, rolling your hips towards his face. Despite everything, you still wanted him, needed him. He chuckled softly, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit, teasing and flicking until you were squirming beneath him. "Admit it, mi amor," he murmured against you, "you love when I do this."

You gasped, your body tensing as another wave of pleasure crashed over you. You clenched your teeth together, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. "No" You choked out. It was a lie. Obviously it was a lie, you don't remember the last time someone focused on your pleasure....yes you do. 

It was Alejandro.

He ignored your denial, continuing to lick and tease your clit. His hands moved to grip your ass, lifting your hips higher so he could get even better access to your pussy. "Say it," he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Tell me how much you love this."

Your body was trembling now, your whole world narrowed down to the feel of his tongue on your clit. You couldn't think straight, couldn't form words. You grab a fistful of his hair and rolled your hips onto his face. He groaned into your pussy, the vibration causing your body to spasm. His hands tightened their grip on your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth.

Your nails dug into his scalp as you bucked your hips against his face. Your body was coiling tighter and tighter, the pressure building until you thought you'd explode. "Fuck! Alejandro!" You cried out, your body convulsing as an orgasm ripped through you. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, making your limbs shake and your vision blur.

He continued to lap at your clit, milking your orgasm for all it was worth. Only when you had finally gone limp beneath him did he slow his movements, licking delicately at your now-sensitized flesh. "That's it, mi amor," he mumbled against you, a note of satisfaction in his voice.

As your orgasm slowly faded, you lay there panting, your body feeling like jelly. You turned your head to look at Alejandro, your eyes filled with a mix of desire and resentment. "I hate you," you managed to choke out, even though your actions spoke otherwise. A wicked smile spread across his face as he pulled himself up your body, his cock pressing against your soaked cunt. He leaned down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth, nibbling lightly.

"Oh? And why is that, mi amor?" He asked, his voice thick with lust.

"Because I still love you." You admitted, your voice was barely above a whisper.

You couldn't lie to yourself anymore, you thought you hated him. You believed it as well but seeing him tonight made you realise how much you missed him and how much you fucking love him despite everything he did. His brown eyes glowed with satisfaction as he heard your confession. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue exploring the warmth of your mouth. You kissed him back, your body responding to his touch despite everything. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. "Make me forget," you whispered against his lips. You pulled away and gently grabbed his face "Por favor cariño" (Please darling) even if it was just for 1 night. You wanted him to make love to you again. 

A soft smile graced his lips as he looked down at you, his brown eyes darkening with desire. "With pleasure, mi amor," he murmured against your lips before capturing them in a searing kiss. Alejandro moved over you, his cock rubbing against your entrance before he pushed himself inside you. He let out a low groan as he buried himself to the hilt inside you. You gasp as he pushes into you, your body stretching to accommodate his size. The sensation of being filled by him sends shivers down your spine.

He started moving slowly, taking his time as he thrust in and out of you. His hands roamed your body, caressing every inch of skin he could reach. "Ah... Alejandro..." You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you.

You meet his thrusts, pushing back against him. The pace quickens, but you're not looking for release this time. You want something different, something more. You want him to show you how much he loves you. He groans at your words, he leans down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting down lightly. "You're so tight, mi amor," he whispered against your skin. "I could stay like this forever." The room is filled with the sound of your moans and his groans as he makes love to you. There's no rush, no need to finish quickly. Just the two of you lost in each other.

You whimper softly as he bites down on your nipple, the slight pain sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arch your back, pushing more of your breast into his mouth. "Alejandro..." You moan again, your fingers tightening in his hair. You pull him closer, wanting to feel his hot breath on your skin.

Your body moves rhythmically with his, meeting each thrust with one of your own. The sensation of being filled by him is overwhelming, but you crave it. You crave him. His thrusts become slower, more deliberate. He takes his time, savouring every moment of being inside you. His cock throbs within you, precum leaking from the tip.

"God," he groans, his voice thick with desire. "You feel amazing." He continues to move slowly, his cock sliding in and out of your soaking wet cunt. He reaches down to rub at your clit, adding another layer of pleasure to the already intense experience.

As you moved his hand from between your legs, you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move. You rolled over so that you were now on top, straddling him. You placed your hands on his chest for support as you began to move your hips slowly, Alejandro let out a low groan as you began to bounce on his cock. You leaned forward, your hair falling in a curtain around their faces as you kissed him deeply. As you straddle him, his hands go to your hips, helping guide your movements. He lets out a low growl as you start bouncing on his cock. "Carajo, baby," (Fuck) he groans against your lips.

He thrusts up into you as you come down onto him, his cock sliding deep inside you. His hands move from your hips to squeeze at your ass cheeks. He pulls away from your lips and locks his eyes with yours as he watches you ride him, the sight of you bouncing on his cock driving him wild. You began panting heavily as you continue to ride him. Your breasts bounce with each movement, rubbing against his chest. You look down at him, your eyes meeting his brown ones.

"Fuck me, Alejandro," you moan, your voice husky with desire. You lean down and suck on his neck, marking him as your own once more.

His grip on your hips tightens as you continue to ride him. He thrusts up into you harder, matching your movements. "Cómo te deseo, mi amor," (How I desire you, my love) he groans, feeling your nails dig into his skin. "Te quiero tanto..." (I love you so much)

He flips you onto your back, his body hovering over yours. His cock slides back inside you, filling you completely. "I'll fuck you until you can't walk straight," he promises, his voice a rough whisper. You gasp as he flips you onto your back, his body hovering over yours. His cock slides back inside you, filling you completely. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you.* "Sí. Sí. Por favor" (Yes. Yes. Please)

"Oh Dios, Alejandro," (Oh God) you moan, your body arching off the bed. You reach up and grab hold of his hair, pulling him down for a rough kiss. "Te quiero" (I love you) 

He growls into the kiss, his thrusts becoming more desperate. He can't get enough of you, needing to be joined with you in every way possible. His hands roam all over your body, squeezing and groping. His mouth trails down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin.

"No te detengas... Por favor, no te detengas" (Don't stop... Please don't stop) You cry out as he thrusts into you, his cock hitting all the right spots. "Te he echado mucho de menos," (I've missed you so much) you writhe beneath him, your body wracked with pleasure. 

You have forgotten your mother tongue as you start mumbling in Spanish. "Muéstrame cuánto me amas" (Show me how much you love me)

He grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. He can feel his climax approaching, but he fights it, not wanting to finish just yet. "Te amo, mi amor," (I love you, my love) he pants, his voice hoarse. "Te amo más que a nada en este mundo." (I love you more than anything in this world) His pace slows slightly as he tries to regain control of himself. He looks down at you, his brown eyes filled with affection.

You gasp as he slows his thrusts, trying to regain control. You reach up and cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "Entonces muéstrate, Alejandro," (Then show me) your voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. You want him to prove his love for you, to show you just how much he cares.

He nods, understanding what you're asking for. He leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hands move from your hips to your ass, lifting your butt off the bed. He thrusts into you hard, his cock buried deep inside you. He breaks the kiss only to trail hot kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin.

Your breath hitches as he lifts your butt off the bed, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. You moan loudly, your body writhed beneath him. "Alejandro..." you whimper his name, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Dónde está tu control?" (Where is your control?) He's made love to you before, many times before but he's never fucked you like this before. You reach up and grab hold of his hair, pulling him down for another rough kiss while your hips grind against his. He growls into the kiss, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. He can feel his climax approaching, but he doesn't want to finish just yet.

"Te necesito," (I need you) he groans against your lips. "Necesito más de ti." (I need more of you)

His words are punctuated by a particularly hard thrust, causing you to gasp in surprise. But instead of slowing down, he continues at the same pace, showing no signs of stopping. His cock burying itself deep within you. Your body tenses up, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

"Alejandro!" You cry out his name, your voice echoing throughout the room. "Estoy tan cerca..." (I'm so close) Your body starts to shake, the orgasm building up inside you. You can feel it bubbling under the surface, ready to explode any second now.

He feels you tense up beneath him, knows that you're close to reaching your peak. He quickens his pace, driving himself deeper into you. "Mejor que nunca, mi amor," (Better than ever, my love) he groans, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Te haré alcanzar el cielo y volverás por más." (I'll make sure you reach for the sky and you'll come back for more)

His thrusts become more powerful, his cock slamming into you over and over again. He watches as your face contorts in pleasure, loving the sight of you losing yourself to ecstasy. Your body shudders as an intense orgasm rips through you, causing your muscles to spasm. You cry out loudly, your voice filled with pure bliss.

"Alejandro!" You scream his name, your body shaking uncontrollably. "Dios mío!" (Oh God) The pleasure is overwhelming, making it difficult for you to think straight. All you can do is cling onto him tightly, riding out the waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

He grunts as he feels you clench around his cock, your body trembling beneath him. He can tell that you're experiencing an intense orgasm and it drives him wild. "¡Maldita sea!" (Damn it!) he curses, his thrusts becoming even more frenzied. "Quiero sentirte ahogada en tu propia placer." (I want to feel you drowning in your own pleasure) His hands grip your hips tightly as he pounds into you relentlessly. He can feel his own climax approaching rapidly, spurred on by the sight of you lost in ecstasy.

You're still recovering from your first orgasm when he plunges into you once more, filling you completely. The sensation sends a shockwave through your body, causing you to gasp in surprise. "Al!" You cry out again, your voice shaky and breathless.* "Por favor..." (Please)

Your body trembles beneath him, unable to withstand the intensity of his thrusts. But despite the discomfort, there's a part of you that craves for more - wants to experience everything that he has to offer. He grunts as he feels you tighten around his cock, your body quivering underneath him. He can tell that you're on the brink of another orgasm and it excites him. 

"Mírame, mi amor," (Look at me, my love) he whispers huskily, leaning down to capture your gaze with his own. "Quiero que veas solo a mí cuando llegues al éxtasis." (I want you to see only me when you get to ecstasy) His thrusts become slower but deeper, ensuring that every inch of his length is buried inside you. He wants you to focus solely on him - to feel nothing but pleasure when you finally succumb to ecstasy.

You lock gazes with him, your grey eyes wide and filled with desire. His words echo in your mind, spurring you on towards the edge of another orgasm. "Alejandro" you whimper his name, your voice barely audible. "Soy tuya." (I'm yours)

Your body convulses beneath him once more as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. This time however, it's different - stronger than before. It feels like everything inside you is being squeezed tight, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

"I... I'm yours..." you manage to choke out between gasps for air.

He grunts in satisfaction as he feels you squeeze around his cock, your body convulsing beneath him. He can feel your orgasm rippling through you and it pushes him over the edge. "¡Sí! ¡Sí!" (Yes! Yes!) he roars triumphantly, thrusting one last time into your spasming cunt before he releases himself inside of you.

His body goes rigid above yours as he rides out his climax, filling you with warm seed. The feeling is incredible - like nothing else he's ever experienced before. "S-so good," You pant, you manage to remember how to speak English again, your voice barely audible as you struggle to catch your breath. "Fe-feels amazing..."

Your body continues to twitch and convulse long after both of you have reached climax. Every inch of you seems sensitive - every touch sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your veins.

He collapses onto you, his weight pressing down on top of you. He can feel his heart pounding against his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. "You're amazing," he murmurs into your ear, his voice hoarse from all the screaming and moaning.

His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek gently, wiping away a tear that had managed to escape earlier. He pulls back slightly so he could look at you better - taking in every detail of your flushed face and dishevelled appearance.

You let out a soft sigh as he strokes your cheek, the warmth of his touch sending pleasant shivers down your spine. Your body feels heavy and satisfied - every muscle exhausted yet fully content.

"I love you," You murmur quietly, closing your eyes as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasms.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, despite the fact that you're still panting heavily. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, enjoying this moment alone with him. He smiles softly at your confession, his thumb brushing gently against your cheekbone.

"I know, mi amor," he whispers, leaning down to press a tender kiss against your lips. "And I love you too." His hand moves from your face to trace lazy patterns along your collarbone. He can feel the rapid thump-thump of your heartbeat under his fingertips - a rhythmic reminder of what they've just shared together.

And just like that. Time became irrelevant, and the world faded into a distant hum. For you and Alejandro, all that mattered was the present, a timeless moment where love and connection reigned supreme.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Moment's Silence

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 19

You only knew one thing: you wanted to forget, but you needed this. Him.

This chapter is NSFW 18+ only please!

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

CW: smut, oral sex (male receiving), semi-public sex

Leon had become very familiar with the feeling of his heart racing. 

He’d felt it running from the undead in Raccoon City. When he raced against time to escape the Umbrella labs with his life. When he’d been recruited, and forced to train hard so hard he thought his body would fail him. When he’d been awakened with tear gas, or told to run mile after mile, or when he stood across from a soldier armed with an edged blade. All that time spent with his heart beating against his ribs . . . 

And none of those experiences set his blood racing quite like when you pushed him up against the wall of the mess hall that night, your lips finding his easily in the dark. 

There had been no one occupying the blind spot that night. No other soul to intrude. Lucky, Leon thought. Lucky for him, lucky for you, and most of all, lucky for whoever had chosen not to take that smoke break, because you may well have killed anyone who interrupted this moment. He may have helped you.

But you were alone. Just you and him and weeks’ worth of tension rolling between you, demanding that you both answer it. Pulling you closer. Pressing you together. 

Weeks of tension, and the need to-

⧫⧫⧫

Forget.

That was all you wanted. You wanted to be somewhere other than the snow and the dark. To feel something other than the pain of your torn belly and your shredded heart. To taste something other than the blood in your mouth and the defeat that washed it down. 

You wanted to be free of the past for just a few moments of peace.

And you were seeking it in the too-pretty boy you kissed now. The beautiful, kind man who had been so patient with you. So caring. And now you would repay him for that kindness. 

Or you would ruin him.

You weren’t sure which urge would win out, in the end. You only knew one thing: you wanted to forget, but you needed this. Him. You needed to be here with him, on a warm spring night. You needed to feel his lips on your own, his skin against yours. You needed to taste him. 

So, you broke your kiss, moving your lips down to-

⧫⧫⧫

His throat.

Of course you would go for the throat. 

You were relentless, kissing the skin of his neck like you were on a mission - like you were seeking out the weak points in his guard. The points that would bring him to his knees. The way you worked your mouth was not entirely different from the way you worked with knives, he was learning. Brutal, efficient and deadly. The difference was cruelty. You were never cruel with your blades. With blades, you had a job to get done, and you accomplished it quickly. Without malice. 

With your mouth, though . . .

He drew in a sharp breath as he felt you close your lips around his pulse point and suck the skin into your mouth. Were you trying to leave a mark? He thought, and it made his heart beat ever faster. Surely you weren’t. Surely you wouldn’t. 

But the thought of it . . .

You stopped the effort, and then Leon could only shiver as your tongue smoothed over where your mouth had just been, and he shivered. 

“Oh, god-” he breathed. 

He was silenced a moment later with a kiss, searing and fierce. Then, you pulled just a heartbeat away and-

⧫⧫⧫

“You’ve gotta be quiet, pretty boy.” 

Your warning was whispered, your lips brushing against his as you said it. It was the last thing you wanted to tell him to do. In a perfect world, you would have him moaning the sounds he made that day when you pulled his hair. You would have savored those whines like the sweetest song in the world.

But you were on base, and you had a goal, and you couldn’t afford discovery. Not now. 

Besides, as much as you wanted to hear Leon’s sounds . . . you could settle for the way he looked at you through the dark when you gave your order. You didn’t need to be able to see the finer details of his face to know he was blushing. You could feel it in the heaviness of his breathing, in the way his hands held you like he was afraid this was a dream he’d wake up from. 

But it wasn’t a dream. 

No dream could have prepared you or him for the way your tongues felt against each other. Or the way the heat of your bodies mixed together . . .

⧫⧫⧫

. . . Or the way he shuddered when he felt your hand press between his legs, palming him through the rough material of his fatigues. 

He had to bite back his moan because you’ve gotta be quiet, pretty boy. 

Luckily, you kissed him again, and then he was free to groan into your mouth, trusting that it would muffle the sound enough. He was all too pleased when you answered with a soft sound of your own. Then, you pulled away just enough to whisper to him. “You still sure you want this?” you asked, and your voice was ragged. Desperate. 

“Fuck yes,” he nodded, breathing hard. How could his answer be anything else? How could you think he would give any other response when he pressed his hips against you, meeting your strength with his own and oh god he’d not thought it would feel this good. His dreams and imaginings hadn’t done it justice, because nothing could compare to the real thing. Nothing could compare to you, just as immovable as the wall you pressed him against. “Do you? Still want this?” He still found it in himself to check in - to ask if you wanted this, just as you had. 

You answered him with a tone that sent a twinge of dark excitement through him. “I thought that was fairly obvious.” And it was. You wanted him. The world had taken so much from him, but this? This moment? It was his. It was yours.

He wanted more. He wanted you to feel blood rush through you, just as it rushed through him. 

His own hand moved down from your hip, and his mind a mess of emotion and thought because he just wanted to touch you. To feel you. And he nearly got there before-

⧫⧫⧫

You caught his wrist and pinned it against the wall at his side. 

Not yet. 

You had to do this first. Had to take care of him. Even as he broke the kiss to speak. “I want to-”

“Not yet.” You weren’t going to be argued with. This was what you wanted. What you needed. You needed to pay him back for everything. For your being so cold at first. For avoiding him. For making your past his problem so many times. For not being strong enough. 

And you needed to be in control of something, and as he looked into your eyes, you knew that he understood. He always did. 

You slipped your tongue into his mouth as thanks, and started to move your hand against him harder, feeling the shape of him. Feeling him harden at your touch. It wasn’t enough, and so you let go of Leon’s wrist, moving to undo his pants. He sucked in a breath as he realized what was happening, and you broke the kiss to look at him. To read his reaction. To savor it as best you could in the dark. 

Leon took the opportunity, and soon enough-

⧫⧫⧫

He leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck. 

He understood if you wanted to be in control. He knew why you would need that, but he couldn’t help himself. He just wanted to feel as much of you as he could, to see what reactions he could pull from you. 

And when you hummed at the feeling, Leon felt a surge of pride. It spurred him onwards, his mouth tracing new paths down your throat, his breath hot and shaky against you. But you were letting him do it for a reason. He knew it in his bones, and he knew it was because your hands were occupied at his hips. The anticipation of that was enough to make him work fast, seeking your pulse point, your collarbone - anything that would bring a response out of you. Anything that would make you feel good. 

But you had other priorities than your own pleasure, it seemed.

Leon felt the night air at his waist. He felt a warm hand slip past fabric and then-

⧫⧫⧫

He whimpered when you wrapped your hand around him, loud and breathy and perfect. 

You could have listened to that sound every moment for the rest of your life, were you anywhere else. As it was, your free hand clamped over his mouth an instant later, and his eyes widened. 

“What did I say about being quiet?” you whispered with a disbelieving smile, shaking your head. You were both still for a moment, trying to determine if anyone had heard him. If you would have to retreat into the night and continue another day. 

After a moment, you felt certain enough that no one had heard. 

And in that moment, you looked back at Leon, realizing you still had one hand over his mouth, and the other . . . 

Oh, he was looking at you like you held his whole damn life in your hands. And that sent a rush of dark, delicious power through you. 

“Can you stay quiet for me, baby?” you asked, your voice low. You stroked him slow, and he held back a sound. Then, he nodded, holding your eye contact against the dark. 

⧫⧫⧫

He needed you to move. To believe him. 

I’ll be quiet. 

Silent as the grave. 

Just move your hand-

“Alright then,” you nodded, and then things began in earnest. One hand remained at his mouth, and Leon held onto you, hips and shoulder. Bracing against you as you pulled one of his dreams into reality and you traced up and down him.

Your hand-

Oh, god, your hand . . .

The touches had him shivering, pleasure running up and down his spine like something was nipping at its heels. He watched you as best he could but found it a losing effort because it was hard to see you when you leaned back in to kiss his neck. You didn’t let him make a sound; your palm still pressed hard against his lips. Even if he couldn’t vocalize it, you knew damn well what you were doing to him. 

⧫⧫⧫

You knew it by the little vibrations against your hand - sounds that were trapped in Leon’s mouth, unable to escape past your grasp. You knew it in the hot breath that washed against your knuckles, in the rising of his chest. You knew it in the movements of his body, the way he pushed against you, craving something you had both imagined for so long. 

But you weren’t imagining anymore, and you weren’t going to let some half-baked daydreams outdo you. 

So, you let your hand fall away from his mouth, and then you started kissing down his chest. Down past his sternum, the fabric of his shirt warm from the skin underneath, and you wished he wasn’t wearing it. You wished you could kiss and lick and bite at his skin as you traveled down. 

Down. 

Down.

⧫⧫⧫

Down.

Leon took a shaky breath as he realized where you were going. What you were doing. 

Every kiss down his chest was a trail of fire, and he knew as he felt his skin warm to a fever pitch that the blaze was going to engulf him. 

Then you reached his waist, and Leon’s breath caught in his throat. 

He couldn’t really put a name to the first thing he felt, because it was more a jumble of thoughts than anything else. A string of oh god oh god yes please oh god that danced about his head as you pulled him free of the confines of his pants. He could only bite his lip as he looked down at you, your face shadowed, and he knew only that you could have asked him to do anything in that moment and he would have. You could have asked him to face down the world, and he would do it without flinching. 

But he knew what you were really asking, as you paused there, your hand still moving against him but the rest of your focus upward. On him. 

Do you want this? That was the unspoken question as you looked up at him. 

The answer was immediate. 

⧫⧫⧫

“Please,” you heard Leon whisper, and fucking hell you knew you needed more of that. More of him breathlessly asking you to bring him bliss. 

But you needed this more, because you’ve been waiting for this moment. 

You needed to move fast, as much as you wanted to take your time with him. To learn every secret his body kept. The thought of it made your insides warm - burn - and your mind was begging you to continue just as much as Leon was. 

So, you started by leaning in, and found that he was hot against your lips. Hot and hard and your kisses drew sighs from him. Your tongue was next, and you were certain that he’d break your rule of silence as he swallowed down a groan. He was breathing hard, but so were you. You tried to keep it under control as you dragged your tongue along him, making a map of him. He trembled as you reached his tip, and you thought he was going to cry out. 

But he’d always been strong. He turned the sound into a long exhale, and you smiled. 

That’s a good boy. 

But that had only been the beginning. He knew it as much as you did, so he tried to brace himself. You could feel it as you ran your hands up his tensing thighs. He was trying to be ready. It was an effort you appreciated, but he’d always had a hard time defending against you. 

And in that moment, you didn’t intend to be anything less than ruthless. 

So, you gave him no warning as your lips parted and then-

⧫⧫⧫

Your mouth was on him, and Leon was sure of one thing only: it wouldn’t be your knives that would be the death of him. It would be this. It would be your lips and your tongue and it’s all he can do not to cry out at the feeling of you taking him in. His teeth sank into the inside of his mouth, and his hands clutched at you - your shirt and the back of your head - and he somehow managed to maintain control. 

When you started to move, to slide your lips up and down him at a torturous pace, he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to maintain that control. 

“Holy shit-” he whispered, because he has to say something. He had to let you know how good you’re making him feel, and he wasn’t sure that looking down at you through the darkness would be enough. 

You had to know. 

You had to know how desperately he needed this. How completely and entirely enraptured he was by you. 

“God, you’re-” he stopped because there’s no word to do it justice. Besides, you took your mouth off of him for a moment to hold a finger to your lips. 

Quiet. 

All he could do was nod, and then his head fell back against the wall behind him as you resumed your work.

⧫⧫⧫

You were going to drive him over the edge. You promised him and yourself that as you moved, letting yourself be pulled down to the depths, refusing to come up for air. You just looked up at him, the moon highlighting him, so you could see his head thrown back, his lips parted in a silent prayer. 

You were no god, but you would answer that prayer. So, you hollowed your cheeks, letting your eyes fall closed and your mind run blank. 

Mercifully, blissfully blank. 

In that moment there was no past. No future. 

Only now, you and Leon, and the dark that you hid away in. The dark where you would give him everything you had. So, you moved fast, humming around him softly, each moment only making you hungry for-

⧫⧫⧫

More.

God, he needed more, and you gave it to him. You took him so well, your hand reaching where your mouth couldn’t, and every quiet groan from you was an earthquake. Thunder that shook him to his bones. He couldn’t help but move, trying to be gentle as he grabbed the back of your head, more to hold on than to guide you. You didn’t need guidance. You knew what you wanted. How to get it. 

And Leon just held on, hips moving faster and faster, finding it harder and harder to breathe. It wasn’t long before he felt himself approaching that edge, razor sharp and promising oblivion if he fell. 

Your fingers dug into his hips, and he couldn’t help himself. 

⧫⧫⧫

He whispered your name, and you felt the sound run through you - a bullet to the heart. Fast and final. You wished he hadn’t, because it sounded so . . . 

You didn’t let yourself think about how reverently he said it. How it had been less a name and more a wish. His next words - or word, rather - were easier to stomach. 

“I-” he stammered, doing his best to keep his voice down. You didn’t need him to complete the sentence. You knew. 

And you weren’t going to let up. You’d been taught to press the offensive if victory was in sight. And this was a victory you wished to savor the taste of. So, you grunted, setting a more brutal pace, and you felt Leon shake against the wall. You had never wanted to see someone come undone the way you did then. Never in all your life. And so, you went on, never letting him go, even as he tried to warn you that-

⧫⧫⧫

He was close. So close. 

He was all desperate sighs and clenched hands, his teeth grinding together to keep himself quiet. It felt good - so, so good. Better than any dream. Any fantasy. Because it was real. It was you. 

You.

That was what finally sent him over that edge - a glance down towards you in the dark. He caught the shine of the moonlight in your eyes as you took him deep, and then he was seeing stars there, too. In your eyes, on your face, in the air all around him. He came hard and he wanted to scream your name into the night sky. You must have been prepared for that, because the moan that threatened to break free from him was silenced as you reached a hand up, your hand clamping over his mouth just in time. 

Your own mouth didn’t move from him, though. You didn’t stop, even as he spilled down your throat, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against it all. 

You were perfect. 

This was-

⧫⧫⧫

Perfect.

That was all you could think as you drank him down, straining to keep your hand at his mouth while the other rested at his hip, steadying him. You watched him in the dim light as he finished, getting lost in the strain of his neck and the crease in his brow. You could feel him whimpering against your palm, and you hummed in response, low and hushed and more caring than you intended. 

And when it was done, when you let him fall from your lips and pulled your hand away from his mouth, his hands were grasping at you, pulling you up to your feet. 

His lips were on yours then, and-

⧫⧫⧫

He didn’t care that he could taste himself in the kiss. He didn’t care that he could hardly breathe as he smashed his lips against yours. 

It was a long kiss. Slower than the previous ones, but deep and true. All that he wanted was to show you his appreciation, near boneless and quivering as it was. And when you groaned into the kiss, like he’d caught you off guard, he felt pride swell above the bliss-induced exhaustion. Pride and then a gratefulness that nearly brought him to his knees.

You had taken him away from it all, if only for a few moments. He hadn’t been here, on base. He’d been somewhere nameless and shapeless, just the two of you. It was the greatest gift you could have given him; he was sure.

And it would be wrong of him not to return the favor. 

⧫⧫⧫

You felt his hand move down to your waist. Your hips. His lips moved, too. Down to your neck, hungry and wanting. 

“Where you going there, Kennedy?” you murmured, stroking him a few more times before you would have to hide him away again behind his pants. At least, that was what you intended to do. You intended to leave it at that, more than satisfied with your own performance for the evening. 

It seems that Leon, despite the way he’d trembled and shook and finished, was not yet satiated. 

“I think you know where,” he said, and you could practically feel him grin against your throat. 

You would be a liar if you said you didn’t want what he implied. Working your mouth over him had left need building between your legs, and you wanted nothing more than to let him unwind that tangle with his hands. His tongue. 

But this wasn’t about what you wanted. 

“I can wait,” you said, and you hated the words. 

Leon answered them quickly. “But you shouldn’t have to.” He sounded so earnest. So damn sincere. 

“You want someone to see?” you asked, fighting his wants as much as your own. Because the longer the two of you lingered here, the more risks you took, the more likely you would be discovered. You knew it and Leon knew it. 

The difference was that he didn’t care. “I want to do this for you,” he insisted, pulling away from your neck, and looking into your eyes. At least it was dark out. At least you couldn’t fully see that meaningful look you knew he was giving you. Your resolve was already weak enough as it was. That only got worse as he went on, his words a whisper and his breath gently brushing your skin. “I want you to feel something good, just for a little while.” 

“. . . You’re so sure it’ll be good?” you found yourself asking with a smirk. 

You were a fool for this. For indulging him. But you would be damned if you let yourself walk away from him now. 

Leon’s teeth glinted in the low light as he smiled. “Pretty sure.” 

Goddamn it. 

“You’d better be quick then, pretty boy.” Your hand found his hair, and he groaned as you pulled him towards your mouth once more. 

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Chapter Index

A/N: HO BOY y'all I put in extra hours at the factory to pull this one off.

Anyway, yes the title is a Hozier song cause like . . . listen to "Moment's Silence" and you'll know why. And for those of you who like the song recs, other songs that I listened to while writing this one were "Streets" by Doja Cat, "Holiest" by Glass Animals, "Gibson Girl" by Ethel Cain and another Hozier banger, "To Be Alone". Because all of these songs are certified vibes and I would respectfully rock Leon's world to them, too.

[smogfromkortalmombat1]

The beginning (MK1 Tomas fic)

Hey there! Do you like Mortal Kombat 1? Do you like the Lin Kuei? Do you like traumatising children?

Well boy do I have the fanfiction for you!

Summary: The beginning of the Lin Kuei trio - The murder of the Vrbada family (Hurt/comfort - slight gore) - Word count ~ 6000

Can also be read here, on AO3: We are family. - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Mortal Kombat - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

.

He had been only five. Only five, when his family were slaughtered.

That day- it was something he would never, ever forget. One of the first ever full memories to grace what he considered his early ‘childhood’, and it was one of his most vivid to date even all these years later.

His family were not deserving of the end that befell them that fateful day. They were not criminals- they had not stolen, pillaged or murdered. Their hearts were pure and beautiful, despite their personal struggles. They had been humble hunters, seeking a quiet, calm life. Yet despite this, their bright, kind souls were extinguished without a second thought that day. Right before his very eyes. His life had almost been taken in that fell swoop too.

And for what reason? Well, Tomas was still chasing the answer to this very day. Twenty nine years later. He had a feeling that he would never find it, though.

“Tomas-!”

Even if he did finally find an answer that made sense- an excuse that he could possibly understand and reason with, it didn’t change the fact that that day hurt him more than he had ever been hurt in his whole life. No physical wound could reap as much sorrow and pain as he had felt that day.

“Máma?”

Not even his own death could ever compare.

Tomas had been dozing, his little head resting in his hands when loud, violent shouting tore him from the beginning of a peaceful dream. 

Someone was yelling. In what language, exactly, Tomas wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that whoever it was was really, really upset, their snarls rattling the walls around him. They sounded like his Tatínek- when he drank too much juice, that was. Maybe this person had drunk too much too? They must have drunk a lot, if so. Tomas had never heard someone sound so angry.

 A sudden crash rattled the wall near his bedroom window. Tomas startled, his pale eyes wide. The whole room seemed to tremble with the impact, groaning as if it might collapse at any moment. His toys, once steady in their scattered spots across his floor wobbled and fell, little wooden soldiers clattering to the floor. Another shout, more yelling and then-

He gasped as his window shattered, exploding inwards towards him, tiny, fine shards of glittering glass raining down upon him like tiny, sparkling knives. He bit his lip, hard, a shiver wracking through his body as the cold night’s air swept easily into the room, biting into his exposed skin uncomfortably. This person- they needed to calm down. Papa got angry too, sometimes really, really angry, but never like this. 

Speaking of his Tatínek, he could hear him now, voice rising to meet the stranger’s own. Angry, heated words- something about the window, about the money it would cost. Typical of his Papa, really, but Tomas could hear, under that familiar, fiery anger, something new. Something different. Something that made his little stomach twist into knots. Fear.

His dad was scared.

He looked down at the glass surrounding him once more. It was like a landmine of sharp little daggers of ice, glistening from the lanterns outside. Máma would be so mad. She hated messes like this. Tomas would know- he’d caused many himself. Accidentally, of course. 

He should go and find her, really. Tell her that his window was broken, that he was cold, and that Papa may or may not be outside arguing with another crazy-man. She’d drag his Papa back inside so fast by just the ear if she found out he was causing up a stir. She was always quick to stomp his argumentative flame out.

Ever-so-carefully, he pushed himself upwards. His tiny hands brushed off the glass from his clothes as best as he could. He grabbed his favourite toy- a little wooden horse, handmade from the finest wood. A birthday gift, from his late babička. ‘For protection’ he reasoned with himself as he held the wooden figure close to his chest, letting his thumb gently run over the familiar grooves, feeling each and every cut that had been deliberately made in order to form the cute horse staring up at him. Comfort and ease washed over him.

Now, to find his Máma.

Cracking his door open, he peered out into the dimly lit corridor. The shouting was louder here, somehow. It was harsh and ugly, words Tomas hadn’t ever heard before being exchanged by his Papa and the stranger. More things were thrown, too, hitting the outer walls in rapid succession, shattering upon impact, rattling the house as they went. Grown-ups were scary, scary things.

“You’ve wandered into the wrong fucking area.” His father was slurring in Czech, voice muffled behind the bulk of the front door separating Tomas from the madness outside. His words were heavy, like it was a strain on his whole body to talk. Tomas’ little feet were quick to move away from the door, carrying him towards the kitchen instead, which resided right at the back of their house. That’s where he would find his Máma, napping in her big, brown, cosy rocking chair. She loved that chair. So did he- she always rocked him in it when he had nightmares. “You think you can come here and threaten me? Threaten my family? Do you? Who do you think you are, huh? Huh!?”

The stranger yelled something in their own native tongue, and before Tomas could even attempt to debunk it, a new sound tore through the night. 

His father’s screams.

Tomas froze, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t a mad scream. It was something else entirely, something he had never heard from his father before until this very moment. Pain. His father was screaming from pure and utter agony. He sounded hurt, really, really badly hurt. The house shook with the sound, the walls shuddering and whining. It sounded like the house was crying. Or maybe that was his Tatínek, Tomas couldn’t tell anymore.

Just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Everything stopped. The world was so incredibly still that the only thing he could hear was his own blood pounding in his ears. The frantic flutter of his petrified heart was loud, and painful, too. His tiny hand came to rest on his shirt above the spot, squeezing tight. 

“Papa?” He couldn’t help but call out, voice croaky and raspy with fear. He listened for a moment, straining his ears to hear anything other than his own laboured, terrified breathing. Nothing. Not a single sound.

The door unlocked with a soft click, like a twig snapping in a quiet forest, creaking open slowly on its hinges.

Tomas tried again, hopeful and desperate. His fingers tightened on his toy. “Papa?”

It wasn’t his Papa.

Tomas found himself here often.

It wasn’t a particularly well-known spot to those residing in the Shirai Ryu temples. An old, withered security post, high up out of the reach of even their best students, overlooking the wondrous, snow-capped mountains the very temples were built upon. The little area was untouched by humans for the most part, and, because of this, mother nature had been quick to recapture it. Birds’ nests, moss, lichen, it all grew and flourished in the cover of concrete privacy. Its beauty now marred the once dead stone walls, turning them into something new. Something alive. Something cherishable, and beautiful.

It reminded him of his first ever hunt with his dad. Covering his body in dirt and sticks and other gross muck in an attempt to ‘blend in’ with nature, trying to hold back his childish giggles as he lay stomach-down on the forest floor, His father laying beside him, dripping in mud and covered head-to-toe in leaves, attempting to shush and scold him with a finger against his own curled grin.

They had looked like a pair of idiots. Came back empty-handed too. As it turns out, birds and hares startled easily when you had a wiggling, excited toddler at your side, no matter how much of an expert you were. His dad hadn’t been upset, though. Instead he had ruffled Tomas’ filthy, mud-streaked hair with a laugh, and bought some rabbit meat from one of the local butchers on the way home.

His dad had tried to pretend Tomas had caught it, when confronted curiously by his mother. Wound up a wild tale of a chase that led to Tomas wrangling the prey with his bare hands. Obviously, Tomas’ mother wasn’t stupid enough to buy into that. Still, it had them all laughing and snorting and giggling over a nice cooked stew later that day. The rabbit had tasted amazing. 

Of course, that only happened once she had thoroughly scrubbed the pair of them clean from the dirt on the porch outside. She wouldn’t have let them step a single foot in the house before they were sparkling clean.

The sword was the first thing his eyes latched onto, the blade catching in the moonlight. Long streaks of crimson smeared the metal, thick drops of blood sliding off its edge and hitting the ground in sickening splats. 

The person didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to. His intentions were clear.

“Máma!” He shrieked, stealth forgotten as he turned tail and ran. His heart was in his throat- he felt sick. Deeply, truly sick. “Máma! Máma!”

He burst into the kitchen, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process as he reached his mother. She was there, right where he’d pictured she would be, sat in her cosy rocking chair, looking at him with kind, sleep-fogged eyes. Her calm demeanour did nothing to ease him. He couldn’t stop shaking. 

Flinging herself at her, he buried his face into her lap, tiny hands desperately clutching onto her with newfound strength. His breath came in ragged, whimpered gasps, “Máma!”

“Tomas?” Her voice was silky and soft, still heavy with sleep as she blinked at him. His twin sister, Anna, sirred in her arms, pink tongue sticking out as she yawned. “Tomas? Sweetheart?” His mother called again, her beautiful, graceful features etched in a worried frown. A hand came to cup his cheek, thumb wiping at the tears in his eyes. “Another nightmare?”

The birds were chirping softly, nestled high above him, the moss wet and soothing under his palms.

His sister would have loved it. 

At least, he thinks she would have.

If Tomas closed his eyes, he could imagine it. Imagine Anna laughing, how the echoes of her giggles would ring through the quiet space. Her small, soft hands reaching out to touch the moss, her big, doe brown eyes staring up in wonder at the birds nesting above her head. She had always been the more adventurous of the two of them. Braver, louder, she was everything he was not. 

If he closed his eyes, he could see her here, with him. See her older, wiser, but still the little Anna he had grown up with. Cheeky and loving, her blonde hair longer, curling slightly at the ends, and still that same kind, curious gaze in her eyes as she took in the world around them both like she was five once more.

But it was just that, wasn’t it? Just imagination. Some sad, bittersweet fantasy his mind created, desperate to try and fill the aching void in his heart.

Today that void could not be filled. The gaping chasm of aching in his battered soul only wanted one thing, and that thing could never be given to him. 

Another year, that’s what today marked. Another year since his family’s murder.

The wind whispered softly through the temples, ruffling his clothes as if desperately attempting to soothe him. But that ache in his chest remained. It was a familiar pain, one Tomas was well aware of. A special place in his heart that ached only for his family. To play with his sister, or his father. To hug his mother. To feel her gentle arms on him, rocking him as she once did, her lips in his hair, pressing a kiss to chase away his nightmares.

The rocking chair lay on its side now, abandoned, its familiar, loving creak silenced. The three of them were huddled on the floor now, tucked away in the nearest corner; Tomas’ Máma had been quick to push him behind her, positioning herself between her children and the man stood in the doorway. Anna was clutched onto her side, her little face buried deep in their mother’s chest, her tiny body wracked with the trembles of complete and utter fear.

Anna’s sobs were muffled against their mother’s nightgown, but Tomas could feel every tremor. He pressed himself close to his mother too, peering out from behind his Máma’s shoulder, his small hands clung tightly to her gown, fingers twisting the fabric in a white-knuckled grip. 

The man- he was just standing there, in the doorway, watching them cower, only a few feet away. In his hand, that fated sword. Tomas could see it clearer now. Bits of hair and flesh were scattered among its crimson smears, like grotesque ornaments. He felt sick.

His mother noticed it too. She let out a heart-wrenching sob, her whole body beginning to tremble as realisation dawned upon her. “Marek…”

The man took a step closer. His mother’s hand shot backwards blindly, searching for Tomas, grasping a tight hold on him, pulling him even closer to her. He could feel the raw desperation in the way her nails dug into his skin, her breath hitching. It was as if she was trying to anchor them together, save them from a fate unsavable. Even she could not will them away from the inevitable. 

“They’re just children.” She choked out, her voice a true desperate plea. There was no anger, no fight. Just a mother’s last true hope. “They are just children.” Her voice shook, her body quaking. “Just kill me, please. Please leave them alone. Let them live, please. Please, god, let them live.”

Another step. Then another. Tomas buried his head into his mother’s soft hair, the familiar, comforting scent of her filling his nose. He could hear Anna’s frightened whimpers, feel her writhing and quaking against him. He reached out with his free hand, finding her arm and squeezing tightly. ‘I’m here’ he wanted to say, ‘I’m here. I love you’, but his mouth was screwed shut. The words couldn’t come, no matter how hard he willed them to. 

“I don’t want to die.” Anna’s whisper, hot and frantic in his ear, broke his heart into a thousand pieces. “Tomas, I don’t want to die. I’m scared-” Her voice broke into another sob. He wanted to tell her so, so badly that it would be okay. That they would be safe, somehow, that their Máma would get them out of this, but the words, just like before, simply would not come. He was scared too. So, so scared.

He never got the chance to comfort her. To hold her tightly, to kiss her forehead like he did so very often. The blade descended, swift and merciless, before he could even blink.

“Tomas?”

A voice startled him from his thoughts, though it was gentle, familiar. Kuai Liang. Leave it to his brother to track him down even when Tomas himself didn’t want to be found. ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire’. Something like that.

He didn’t need to look to know what his brother was thinking. Kuai Liang was no stranger to loss himself, and he was not blind to others' losses either, especially not his younger brother’s. Tomas felt a flicker of gratitude- a small ember of light in the darkness he had been drifting in. He wasn’t being pressured to talk, to make up silly excuses. Tomas didn’t need to explain himself. Kuai Liang wasn’t seeking an explanation. He knew why Tomas was here.

The silence settled between them, only disturbed by the wind. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. It could never be awkward with Kuai Liang. Tomas could feel his warmth from here, a gentle, welcoming presence. An anchor to reality amidst his spiralling thoughts.

Kuai Liang’s footsteps, light, yet deliberate, broke their shared quiet, though barely heard over the wild whistling around them. He moved carefully into Tomas’ peripheral, his posture relaxed and calm as he claimed the empty spot beside him. With a deep, tired sigh, Kuai Liang leaned back on his hands, his gaze wandering over the surrounding landscape. The freshly-healed scar over his right eye tugged slightly with every small movement of his face. “I’ve never been up here before.” He hummed, “It’s nice. Peaceful.”

Tomas swallowed, his voice rough and croaky from disuse, “You don’t have to do this.” He started, “I’d understand.”

Kuai Liang paused. He shifted closer, until their shoulders touched, a steady warmth radiating from his body into Tomas’ own. His brother was a furnace. Always had been, really. The heat grounded Tomas in the moment. Kuai Liang shook his head, his expression calm but firm. “I do.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Don’t.” 

Tomas left it at that.

Go limp. Play dead.

Close your eyes, slow your breathing. Pretend it doesn’t hurt. Don’t flinch, don’t cry, don’t make a single sound. Do nothing at all. If you’re still, maybe you’ll live to see another day.

Anna was choking next to him,her breaths gurgling, wet and ragged, as if she were drowning. His mother was silent. Tomas kept his eyes tightly shut, willing himself not to look.

He attempted to steady his breathing, to quiet the frantic pounding of his heart. His whole body screamed in agony, twitching and writhing despite his best efforts. The blade hadn’t been merciful- the man had not held back. Deep, painful lacerations laced his skin- his face felt like it was on fire, his blood boiling as it pooled out of him, searing his pale, once unmarred skin. He wanted to cry so badly. To shriek and thrash and wail. He was only five. Only five.

He wanted his Máma. To feel her arms around him, hear her soft voice as she soothed away the pain. To have her kiss his bruises and bandage his cuts, to rock him to sleep like she always did when he was upset. His hand was still entangled in her nightgown, his face pressed against the back of her neck, which was steadily growing colder with each passing second. 

She was right there, beside him, and yet Tomas had never felt so alone.

He sighed, turning to lean closer into Kuai Liang’s welcoming presence, resting his cheek on his elder brother’s shoulder. In turn, Kuai Liang’s arm wrapped around him, tugging him closer. 

“I hate seeing you like this.” His brother whispered, as if almost to himself, gaze still set on the mountains before them. On the setting sun casting pretty yellows and purples across the cloudless sky. “I always hoped, as the years went by, that you’d be able to heal fully.” His mouth tugged into a grim, thin line, “I know now that pain like that doesn’t disappear, no matter how much you will it to.”

Watching his mother and sister die was something that Tomas could never, ever truly scrub from his memory. Pieces of his childhood had fallen away over the years, slipping through his fingers slowly like sand as he aged, but that memory would never leave him. It was imprinted on his brain, hardwired into his DNA, entangled in his coding- whatever metaphor he tried to use didn’t give it enough justice. It was there, and it was never leaving him. No matter what.

Part of him was thankful. Knowing that he’ll keep a memory of them forever- be able to remember their faces in such vivid detail, their voices clean and well-kept in tone, as other memories of his faded and warped over time. He won’t ever forget what they looked like. To him, that is invaluable.

Part of him though, deep down? He felt as though that moment was glued to him to remind him how he failed them. He led that attacker right to them both as they slept, unaware of the dangers. If he had run elsewhere, had time to wake them up before leading the man to them, done something brave and different- maybe the outcome would have changed. Maybe they would still be here today, alongside him.

Tomas didn’t know how long he lay there, motionless, his small, tiny body curled against his mother’s cold side. Time had become a blur, a slow, endless stretch of darkness and pain. He was caught between the terrifying thought that maybe this was what death was, and the equally more petrifying idea that if he was alive, and he moved, even just an inch, the man would return and finish what he started. 

Maybe this is what death really was. Nothingness. No heaven, no hell, just absolute nothingness. You just lay there, alone, forever, feeling nothing but aching emptiness and unending agony. He hoped it wasn't. He really, really hoped it wasn’t.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears eventually, breaking the eerie silence of the night. They were growing louder and louder. Voices hit the air around him, unfamiliar and hurried, a language he didn’t understand. He stayed still, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, his breath catching in his throat as the footsteps drew nearer and nearer, creaking down the hallway in a hurried fashion. The kitchen door whined on its hinges. His bloodied fingers clenched tighter onto his mother’s nightgown. 

A gentle, soft hand touched his neck, nimble fingers feeling for a pulse. Then, another cradled his head. Tomas couldn’t help but flinch, a sharp, violent shiver running through his body. The touch was warm. Alive. He dared to open his eyes. Just a little.

A woman. Long, black, silky strands of hair curling delicately around her cheeks, her haunted face pale in the moonlight. She was kneeling beside him, once-white clothes soaked crimson in the blood of his mother, sister- him, too, to an extent. Her eyes were the same shade of brown as his mother’s. Filled with the same concern, the same kindness. She was talking to him, her lips moving, though blurred by his tear-clouded vision, voice low and soothing, though he couldn’t understand a single word.

“Máma…” He whimpered, his voice barely more than a whisper. He wasn’t sure if he was calling for his mother, or asking this kind, strange lady to be her.

The woman, in turn, gave him a sad, heartbroken smile. She reached forward, her arms slipping under him, lifting him gently from the blood-soaked floor, pressing him close into her side. Tomas let her, too numb and weak to resist, a hand curling in the cloth of her dress. His head lolled against her shoulder tiredly, half-lidded eyes drawn back to the scene he had been pulled from.

His mother, his sister- they were just… lying there. Still and silent, their faces pale in the dim light of the night. His mother’s hand, the one that had held onto him so dearly, was so deathly limp now. Contorted and completely lifeless. Anna’s small body was curled into her side, half-tucked away from view, his mother’s last attempts at saving her clear as day. 

The woman holding onto him began moving away, turning towards the door without much notice, eager to leave the massacre behind. Her voice was still soft, though dripping in worry and urgency. Her hand cupped the back of his head where it rested against her shoulder, thumb feeling over a long, deep cut on his scalp. His gaze remained fixed on his family’s corpses, though. A part of him wanted to cry out, to reach for them. To demand that this woman put him down, let him cuddle with them one last time, to fall asleep in his mother’s arms once more, but his body wouldn’t respond. It felt as though he was floating, detached from everything around him. From himself, especially. His lips were sealed tightly shut as the door to the kitchen closed, his family disappearing for the last time behind its wooden frame.

Tomas’ world was a blur of movement and noises as the woman carried him through the cold night’s air. He could hear her calling out, her voice urgent and strong, though her words foreign and unfamiliar. Men, women, they had joined her as she walked, lanterns held up high, glinting weapons sheathed safely in scabbards as they escorted the pair. He glanced around, head still resting on the woman’s shoulder, eyes heavy with exhaustion. They were approaching something- something big. Massive, really. Tall and elegant, high up atop a hill, the climb steep and treacherous.

Oh. This must be a temple. Tomas had never seen a temple before.

The temple's inhabitants were beginning to stir as the woman’s calls echoed through the courtyards. Sleepy, confused faces appearing in windows and doorways, their features blurred by the soft glow of the travelling lanterns moving past. He could feel their eyes on him, though, their gazes shocked and concerned, racking over his wounds and the blood smeared both over him and his saviour. The woman’s hands tightened on him, pulling him closer, as if attempting to shield him from their judging view. That, he appreciated.

Two boys caught his own gaze as he sleepily looked at the crowds around him. One taller, more broader, the other smaller, but no less muscular, both staring at him from the footpath to one of the much larger, prettier temple homes. The taller one wore a deep, calming blue, the other a bright, fiery yellow, their little confused faces peering out at him, dark, curious eyes meeting his own pale ones. 

The woman holding him looked over herself, her own eyes meeting those of the young boys. She said something in her native tongue that sent the two of them scrambling back behind closed doors, out of view. Tomas tiredly wondered what she had said to them. Were those her children?

He was whisked away before he could question it further, carried down a narrow corridor into a dimly-lit room where the strong scent of sage and sandalwood greeted him, tickling his nose gently. There, she lay him down upon a low cot, his battered body sinking into the fabric. A man was waiting nearby- a doctor, if Tomas had to guess. He was much, much older than her, his face lined with wrinkles of age and wisdom. His eyes, though sharp, held a kindness as they took in the sight of the small boy placed before him. 

His voice was deep, calm and well-controlled as he turned to speak to the woman, his hands gesturing towards Tomas as he himself rolled back on his chair, checking over his equipment. In response, the woman touched Tomas’ shoulder, her fingers gentle as she began to peel back the layers of clothing clinging to his skin. Her movements were deliberate and careful, each button of his torn and bloodied shirt undone with absolute care. She murmured quietly in his ear the whole time as she worked, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed, jumpy nerves, even if her words were incomprehensible.

Once he was stripped bare of his clothes, the doctor leaned back in, his gaze sharpening as he examined the full extent of Tomas’ injuries. His cold, rough hands shifted Tomas back and forth and side-to-side, eyes hesitating over the deeper cuts across his shoulders and upper back. He muttered something short under his breath before turning away back to his equipment nearby.

Throughout it all, the woman stayed close, her hands never leaving him. Her fingers, which had deftly unbuttoned his shirt moments before now traced delicate patterns across the skin of his face, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp as she combed through his smoky hair. It reminded him achingly of his mother.

A single tear slipped from Tomas’ eye, tracing a path down his bloodied face. The woman’s thumb was quick to catch it, her lips pressing into a thin line as she leaned forwards, closer, whispering something to him, her eyes filled with honest concern. At just the simple gesture, more tears followed, and Tomas had to look away, his pale eyes staring down at his bloodied hands resting in his lap, entangling his fingers together. His lip wobbled dangerously. “Máma…”

Eventually, the woman was called away from him. Her warm hands left him hesitantly, replaced by the cold, harsh string of the needle as the doctor attempted to stitch him back up. As she stepped back, Tomas looked up, watching as she wandered over to a newcomer, a man, who was stood in the doorway, arms crossed and expression grim. Their conversation wasn’t a loud one by any means, but it held heat, their whispered voices rising and falling. Tomas noticed their eyes dart towards him occasionally, looking him up and down. Judging him. Were they discussing what to do with him? Was he even welcome here?

When the doctor finally finished, his wounds stinging and raw, but now clean and tended to, whatever argument had befallen the pair seemed to cease as well, an answer concluded, if the man’s dip of his head and his quick exit had anything to go by. The woman returned quickly, gathering Tomas up in one arm, cradling his tiny body close to her chest, her other hand reaching out, snagging the dirtied, slashed clothing he had once worn. She softly thanked the doctor, at least, he assumed so, Tomas hearing him murmur something to her in turn. A gentle, satisfied exchange between the pair before she took her leave, dragging Tomas away with her. Back down the narrow corridor they went, away from the scent of herbs and towards the crisp chill of the night’s air once more. 

She was quick to lead him towards another building- the same one, he noted, that he had seen those two boys disappear into earlier. She didn’t hesitate, waltzing in through the large, elegant door, down the winding hallways until she reached what he assumed were her own quarters, letting them both in quickly, the thin wooden door closing with a click behind them.

She moved with practised ease, setting Tomas down on a cushioned mat as she moved further into another room, returning moments later with an old, dusty box, full to the brim of children’s clothes- blue and yellow outfits, like the two boys he had seen. After rummaging around inside the box, and comparing him to the garments she found, the woman settled on a small pair of yellow pyjamas. The fabric was soft and worn from time, smelling faintly of lavender and rose. Though they were far too large on his small frame, the cuffs reaching the very tips of his fingertips, the bottoms pooling well past his toes. Regardless, they were comfortable- a stark contrast to his previous attire, which now sat abandoned near the doorway in a bloodied heap. The relief was immediate and more than welcome.

The woman changed out of her own blood-soaked dress, donning something soft and simple in tow. She sat down beside Tomas, pulling him into her lap, her arms wrapping around him in a comforting embrace. He curled into her almost immediately, pressing his face into the crook of her neck, seeking solace in her warmth. He could hear her murmuring softly to him, her voice soothing and melodic as she spoke simple, singular words to him. She was trying different languages, he realised, attempting to find which one he would react to- some words she spoke he vaguely recognized from stories or encounters, some completely foreign to him entirely. She didn’t speak Czech, though, but Tomas didn’t expect her to. Instead, he simply burrowed closer, letting the sound of her voice wash over him, lulling him toward the sleep his body desperately begged for.

Sensing his need for quiet and peace, the woman’s words gradually faded into a gentle hum as she began to rock him slowly, her hand idly stroking his soft, pale hair. The tune she hummed was soft and tender, a melody that felt like a distant memory. It sounded like something his own mother may have sung to him. Maybe one she may have sung to him tonight, in her beloved brown rocking chair. Had she been given the chance to.

Tomas’s eyelids grew heavier as his body sank deeper into the woman’s comforting embrace. He felt the tension in his muscles slowly ebb away, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion that he could no longer fight. The horrors of the night began to blur, replaced by the warmth of her arms, the softness of her voice, the steady beat of her heart beneath his cheek. He let himself drift, slipping into the safety of sleep, the last thing he heard being the woman’s gentle hum, carrying him into a world where, for a moment, he could forget everything.

Tomas awoke to Kuai Liang’s rough, scarred hand ghosting across his face, idly tracing old scars. His fingertips were careful and precise, brushing through his hair, flattening smoky strands. He tucked a few particularly curly rebels behind his ears ever-so-gently.

When he had fallen asleep, he hadn’t a clue. He had gone from sitting up to laying down somehow, his head now pillowed in his brother’s lap. The night’s winds were no longer a gentle breeze, instead howling and wailing through the mountains. The cold of the air bit at the exposed skin of his arms, but Kuai Liang’s unnatural, fiery warmth kept most of the discomfort at bay.

They hadn’t cuddled like this since they were children. Kuai Liang was much like Bi-Han when it came to things like affection, making Tomas the odd one out of the three, naturally. Cold and icy, Kuai Liang never wanted to get too close to anyone, attempting desperately to mimic his elder brother, wanting to be everything he was and more, even at the cost of his own mental health. It seems Harumi had done a good job in getting his brother to take up on his naturally softer side once more.

Losing Bi-Han to that same coldness he had once strived hard for probably helped, though. Tomas knew it was a sore spot still, even after all the time passed. It hurt him, too- he wasn’t afraid to admit it. Losing Bi-Han was like losing his blood family all over again. Like losing his adoptive father and mother. Bi-Han was the closest person he had to a parental figure after everything he had lost over the years, and just like the previous ones, he had disappeared too. Instead this time, on his own volition. That had stung even deeper.

“Sleep, brother.” Kuai Liang whispered, voice barely heard over the wind. “I’ll keep you safe.”

He yawned, jaw cracking. His brother’s warmth and ghosting touch were slowly dragging him back under, reminding his mind of better days, soothing his aching, lonely heart. And who was he to fight it?

[fortheakhirah]

who: @saffroninsilk when and where: flashback thread in shenlong, yiti quest details: in an attempt to secure an exclusive silk trade agreement with the shenlong silk guild, akhirah deals with the guild leaders being wary of outsiders, requiring akhirah to prove his house's reliability and commitment. the negotiations are complicated by a rival merchant from volantis, who seeks to undercut the tarth offer. the twist: during the negotiations, a rare and valuable silk shipment is stolen by bandits. akhirah knows he must track the thieves through dense bamboo forests - and is not expecting for the guild to allocate a lady of house westerling to his responsibility.

the rain drummed steadily against the tiled roof, a muted, rhythmic hum that filled the safehouse with its quiet insistence. the air smelled of damp earth and aged wood, laced with the subtle perfume of brewing tea. akhirah sat cross-legged before the low table, his back straight despite the creeping stiffness in his limbs. before him, the old woman moved with slow, deliberate grace, pouring the pale green liquid into delicate porcelain cups.

he exhaled, watching the steam coil into the air. this had already taken longer than expected. the silk guild had wasted no time in sending him after the stolen shipment, yet they had also insisted he take lady malee westerling along—a decision that still made little sense to him. he glanced at her briefly across the table. she did not belong here, not in the dense bamboo forests they would soon be tracking through, not in the path of armed thieves. yet the guildmasters had been insistent, their reasons left as veiled as their expressions.

the old woman placed a cup before him, and he nodded in thanks before lifting it to his lips. the moment the tea touched his tongue, sharp heat bit into his flesh, and he barely withheld a curse, setting the cup down with careful restraint. his jaw tensed as the sting settled in. wonderful. he had crossed the jade sea, bargained with wary merchants, and now he was being undone by a cup of scalding tea. his gaze shifted to malee. he had not expected her presence, nor the responsibility that came with it.

it was one thing to lead men into battle, to safeguard his house’s interests in court, but to be entrusted with the safety of a westerling in foreign lands? that was an entirely different burden. she was capable, that much was clear—keen-eyed, sure-footed, unshaken by the quiet weight of the room—but capability would not stop an arrow loosed from the shadows. the old woman regarded him with a knowing smile, as though she had seen his thoughts laid bare. he met her gaze evenly, unwilling to let his frustration show.

"time tests patience," she murmured, voice like rustling paper. "and patience tempers resolve."

akhirah inclined his head slightly, though he had little patience left to temper. they should already be riding out, following the silk’s cold trail before the bandits disappeared entirely. instead, he was here, sitting in a stranger’s home, drinking tea while the storm raged beyond the walls. his fingers curled against his knee. "we'll have to ride at first light," he said finally, his voice measured, though firm. "with or without the guild’s blessing." he turned to malee then, searching for any flicker of hesitation in her face, his head remaining leaning against the wall behind him.

"you understand what we’re walking into?" he asked, quieter now. "this is not some courtly game. they will not care for your name if the knives come out." the rain answered in silence.

[happyk44]

Here's how it goes. You are five children in tight quarters. Four of you have never known life without another person by your side. The oldest of you remembers and hates it. It is hot and humid. There's a rock. The rock is pretty nice. You were expecting a sixth kid.

Good to see your mom finally learned something.

You play games together. You have dreams about the world outside the darkness and the tiny light of flame from your oldest sister's fingertip. Then you go up and out. Splattered on the ground in ickiness. Your father is is throwing up and some boy holding a gold plate is standing in front of you with wide eyes. Your youngest sister punches him out the way and you run.

You run and run and run and run until there's nowhere left to go. You get clean from a river. The youngest boy soaks in it deliriously. You are all happy for him. He's found what he dreams of - even if only a small version of it. You pull clothes from a clothesline and get dressed. You cut your long messy hair with knives instead of lowering your head into stomach acid and it is quicker than you've ever known.

It is blisteringly bright outside. You are unfamiliar with light, and distrusting of heat, but it's still pleasant. You can see the trees and the sky and the grass.

The light gives proof you are free.

You hide when the darkness comes. The moon is bright, but you are haunted by years of sitting in pitch black. Is he swallowing you up again? Is the darkness his threat? Your oldest brother doesn't mind the darkness, has never truly been bothered by it, and watches you while you sleep. Your oldest sister builds a fire from branches and leave and the flame on her hand.

You know they will protect you. They are more a mother and father than you have ever known.

You awake and regroup. The boy comes back. His hands are raised above his head and he tells you what he knows. He is your brother, the youngest of you all. He was hidden by your mother. Replaced with a rock so he was not swallowed whole. He is the one that freed you from your father's belly. He wants you to join him, to battle your father, your family, to win and truly be free.

Disbelief hits you first. Then jealousy. Why did he get freedom, and you did not? It does not much approach the older two - your mother could not have known. Swallowed one, but surely he wouldn't swallow two. Swallowed two and set a pattern.

He never should've swallowed three.

It takes a while but you agree, following tensely behind this boy. Your mother sees you and cries. She is so happy. You are not. You do not know this woman. The oldest two do not have parents. The younger three only know the oldest girl and the oldest boy. But you all smile and tell her that you missed her too. You did not. You never knew her. All you know is that she handed you over and let him swallow you, one, two, three, four, five.

Still you stay and prepare to fight.

---

You are the oldest of six teens. Your life did not begin with kindness, but still you are kind. You clean your siblings' wounds from battles fought, and make dinner for them. You listen to their fears and pains and hold them close when they are scared. You fight with fire-laden hands meant for warmth and cooking good soup. You yearn for the day you can run across plains, barefoot and happy, to discover new places, instead of to fight.

Loneliness was a bitter thing when you were born. Alone you sat in darkness until the first boy fell. He was tall for his age, and unnaturally quiet. You found solace in him. A companion. He is your closest friend, the first you seek out.

But now he sits in shadows and sinks into dirt. He hears whispers that no one else can, and brings home pulsing orbs he leaves in his room. None of you can touch them. They pass right through your fingers when you try. When you ask, he tells you that they have been calling to him, asking him to take them home. He tells you that they are still asking for home.

"Where is home?" you ask, afraid of the answer.

"Not here," he says. He looks down to his bare feet and curls his toes into the stone floor. "But I think it's down. Deep down."

The deep down is dark and frightening. You remember it, walking to find allies in your imprisoned uncles. It is different from your father's belly, but encompassing all the same. It is not warm. It is not soft. It is not comforting. It is not home.

But you hold back your protests and squeeze his hand. You are scared of loneliness. It is a cold and empty thing. But you love your brother, and he desires the dark. Your middle brother desires the wet of the ocean, which you cannot stand, and the littlest one wants power and a throne. Your youngest sister will stand by him, creating structure and order and perfectly positioned paintings in the aftermath of this war.

Maybe Demeter, the middle sister who digs her hands deep into dirt and talks to trees and dandelions, will come with you. Surely she will want to travel across plains. Discover new nature. Discover new worlds. Meet new people.

Never to be alone again.

--

You are the oldest boy, the second born of six children. You have never known loneliness. Not physically. You have always had someone by your side. But they do not understand you. Even in the darkness you knew you were strange. Your dreams did not line up with theirs, covered in shadows and whispers and confinement.

Your older sister holds your hand and you smile, thinking of how she will not come with you to where you must go. It calls to you. It always has. These people that roam may not know about you yet, still worshipping the old gods, the ones who have faded away, but when they fall, it is you they call to. Of course they do. Your predecessor isn't around to take them in anymore.

You have not know quiet in all your years. The sounds of dying and dead never ends. In the night, you go and find them. You bring them back to a quiet hutch and set them down. You are not ready for your post yet - the battle has not been won. But it sits waiting, far beneath your feet.

It is a secret you will tell no one, save for a young girl with flowers in her hair and smile brighter than the stars. You will tell her because she will understand what it meant to be given a name that is not yours. Your mother named you in hope and awe, yet when your sister whispered, "Who are you?", you did not answer. You waited in silence.

And quietly and suddenly, you knew. With brilliant clarity, you knew.

"Hades," you said, and years later, people, both the ones who worship the old gods and the ones who your youngest brother has made out of dirt and clay to know nothing but the six of you and your victories - they will confess to one another, "I am scared of Hades", and they will mean both man and home.

Your family fears the darkness. You oldest sister and the following three knew nothing but the pitch black. They still do not trust it. And your youngest brother shines brightly static yellow light. He gazes upwards to the sky. You gaze down to the depths.

They will not follow you.

But you have a duty to follow, the calls to answer. You are not afraid of the dark, and when the war is over, you will descend and finally feel alive.

--

You are the third-born of six children, the second girl, the one who should never have been swallowed. You remember the pity on your older siblings' faces when they held you close in the darkness, only illuminated by the flames of your oldest sister's fingertips. The pretty light calmed your crying and fear.

You remember how it felt to escape the castle. To feel the earth beneath your sticky feet. It swells with you. Everything breaths. You talk to plants and they do not answer, although your family thinks they do. But you talk because they are alive. Because they respond. You can feel it in your veins.

Your oldest brother understands. Your second brother does too. But they are so different from you. You don't know how, but you can just tell. Something is different.

People call you Gaea, the earth, and you think, No, that's wrong. You are the earth, but you are not the earth. You are Demeter.

And you are unsure.

You fight militantly. Distance is your friend. You can feel the enemy patter against the ground, feel the way the trees sway and move. When you pull back your bow, your uncle isn't even in your sight. But the arrow lands dead center and he falls.

The arrow splits and wood crests and grows. Roots drag him down. Spilt blood is drank, water consumed. The very air in his lungs his stolen from his chest as he is devoured by your nature. Every nutrient in his body is taken as the roots spread within him and the tree grows.

You are not the earth. No, the earth fuels itself. You are a separate creation. Like your sisters, you think. Your brothers are different. They are limitless. But you, your sisters - you follow rules. A plant needs water and air to grow. You could not force it to grow without it.

It is in your victory do you consider what you will be. Your garden is not pretty. It is practical, important. Each row of plant exists within structure. Too close and one may steal from the other. Too far and they cannot share. Include certain herbs to deter bugs. Till the soil to renew the earth. Do not overwater.

Bury your uncle and let the grain feast.

--

You are the fourth of six kids. The second boy. The middle child.

Like the ocean, your moods are everchanging. Your oldest brother is the only one who can always quell them. Your youngest brother riles you up too much. It's his fault, you think, when they yell about your fighting. Look at the wind on the sea, how it builds the waves to fight.

You love your oldest sister. Of all your sisters, she is your favourite. She opposes you, warm and calm to your wet and wild, but still she sits with you and soothes your wounds.

Sometimes you worry something is wrong with you. You do not feel pain the way they do. And you are needy. Even more so than the oldest, who was alone for so long until your brother came along. You have known people all your life. Even freed of your father's belly, they have not left your side. And yet you cling. You hold on. They struggle to escape, but you hold them tighter and tighter.

Your older sisters are tactile, but they do not cling the way you do. They do not pull the others in and demand they stay.

Years later you will sit on the rocks and watch as a riptide drags a poor child down and you will understand why you cling.

Your siblings are more elegant than you, more firm, and steady. You run across the earth and struggle to stay upright. It's like your feet were not made for the ground. They fight sharp and deliberate. Each strike is pointed.

You do not fight.

You play.

It's all a game, the whim of the tides. Despite your stocky shape, you are fluid and flexible. Let them run then drag them back. Let them breathe then let them drown. Or spear them viciously. Rip them to shreds. Make them watch the others die in terror, knowing their time will soon come and you do not care how much they beg.

It's your laughter they hear last, booming loud like the crash of the waves in a storm. It's not your fault. You don't know what pity is. You cannot understand it. The ocean does not give life to those who live outside of it. The ocean is salty impure heaviness. Survival must be fought for in the cold and wet.

In the time that comes, when the war is over, you will feel languid and calm for the first time in your life. You all have won. There is no pious uncles, no bitter father to destroy. But soon your oldest brother, the only one who can calm your destructive moods, disappears into shadows and darkness. It appears open and endless to the eye, but you felt the confining walls the day you stepped in.

You do not like confinement.

But the others are still here in the house you've made a home, so you remain a lapping tide. But your littlest brother and sister leave to the mountains and the skies and you cannot follow them that high. Your earthern sister who came just before you leaves for the inland. For pure water wells and settled dirt and people willing to learn. You try to follow but she bats you away in horror and disgust.

You don't know how to handle this. This isn't what is supposed to happen. They are not supposed to leave. You cling to them, and they stay. Their skin grows heavy with your weight and they stop fighting.

They don't leave.

All you have left is the oldest of you all, and you follow her diligently. She tries to still your shifting moods, but it's hard. People get hurt and you cannot care. But she does. She cares so much and you do not understand why. One day you wake up and she is gone. The fire is out, and the people you were with have vanished too. You call out for her and she does not respond.

You scream, angered, that those who were yours have left. They have escaped your wet hands and dried your dew off their skin. They have vanished to places you cannot follow.

They have abandoned you.

You sink into the deep and dark and free and build a new life. Your uncle, a crochety man who did not fight on his brother's side, will tell you it is your time, that the age of Titans has ended, long live the age of the Gods. He will crown you king. The kingdom stands before you, a rule you have never wanted, but now crave. These people belong to the ocean, to you. The water holds them down, gives them life.

They can never leave.

--

You are the youngest sister, the fifth born. People call you strict and cruel. However, your oceanic brother adores your vengeful nature and watches eagerly as you fight. Blood hits your clothes and you grimace. You prefer when things are clean and neat. Tidiness is important.

Your siblings are all entrenched in nature - fire, death, earth, ocean and sky. But you do not see nature. It is a pretty thing in the background of the picture. Today you are violent, but in the future, you will have more meaning.

Women are not well seen in this world, often ignored unless desired, dismissed and put to the side, unless important. Your brothers stand out too much, and your sisters are too entranced by their nature - the oldest to comfort and give warmth, the second to nature and grain. So you are the one who ventures out to the villages that your enemies peruse. You are the one who blends in with the castle staff, who listens in on war plans, and steals secrets.

You are the one who leads your brother to your father.

You are the one who watches him die.

You know that when the war is over and your time has come, you will be much more than a quiet face ducked down and scurrying across halls. You will do much more than drag men to their knees in the thick of night and make them bleed across your knuckles for disgracing the name of family with their lecherous ways.

In the years that come, you will have a warring son and people will laugh at his bloody ways, assuming he comes from his father, the man who won the war. But you know that he comes from you, blood across your knuckles and carrying battered women safely home.

--

You are the youngest of six. When you are but a babe, your mother holds you on her knee and tells you of your siblings. In the darkness of your father's belly, you know that they wait for you to rescue you them. You think of them often. You wonder if they know of you. You imagine how grateful they will when you save them.

When you take your first steps your mother hands you a sword. It is bigger than you are and your fist is small and chubby. Still you learn. You train every day. You learn every weapon you can. Your mother visits and reminds you of your duty - save your siblings, destroy your father, inherit the world.

You rarely leave home. It's dangerous, the nymphs say. Be careful, your mother whispers. Tell no one of your truth, the Kouretes demand.

Fear comes crawling in swift and unbearable. Your mother leaves you with texts for your future, so you may be a good and honorable king. The nymphs tell you of your father's nature, so you will not make his mistakes. Every day you train, every day you learn, and every night you stare empty at the cavern ceiling, terror building a home in your head.

What if you fail? What if you cannot win? What if your siblings do not think you should be king? What if you do something wrong and you are overpowered like your father? You reassure yourself every morning. Of course, you will win. Of course, your siblings will believe you to be king. You will be a good and honorable king. Your people will love you. No one will wish to knock you off your throne.

But still every night you fear.

You meet your father in person for the first time, dressed as a lowly cupbearer. He is not as fearsome as you once imagined. He looks normal. Part of you is distressed by this. Your fear eats it up.

Still, confident and sure, you hold out his goblet and watch as he drinks. Your siblings come up, unclothed and covered in grime. They are all pale and horribly thin. Their hair is matted and unclean, chopped strangely at the ends, as if burnt instead of cut.

You prepare to speak, to usher them to safety as your father still vomits behind them. But the tallest girl, taller than you, throws a fist you were not suspecting, and down you go, and off they run.

Chaos ensues. Evasion is easy but still takes time. By the time you are free of the castle and your father's roaring rage, the sun has set. You climb to the top of the mountain you've lived your entire life under and call out to Selene. She rides her chariot across the sky and returns with helpful news.

Your siblings do not trust you. You don't understand. This is nothing like how you planned it to be. The plan was simple: you tell them of yourself, they are grateful and come with you, you prepare them as you have been prepared, and the battle commences. They obey your every word and listen thoughtfully to your plans.

They understand that you are a great leader, and will be a good and honourable king.

But they are not doing what they are supposed to. They are whispering amongst themselves, while the shortest girl hold fire in her hands and the tallest boy keeps a steady eye on you. They are not coming with you. They are not following the plan.

They are not listening.

It takes too much time for them to agree. They meet your mother and seem... strange. Surely, they should be more excited. She has told you about them in deep detail, from every hair on their head to the specific colour of their eyes, to the way they looked when they fell, and the horror she felt for being unable to protect them. She loves them dearly. Why are they standing so stiff in her hold?

Your siblings are nothing like you expected. Every day they continue to ruin the carefully crafted dream you put together. Your brothers are strange and different from you. They don't feel the sky in their lungs, or appreciate the birds. The oldest is too silent and unsettling. He is stronger than you expected, and makes enemies fall to dust beneath his fingertips.

His capabilities terrify you. Your fear eats it up. What if he desires the throne? it whispers. He is the eldest.

I will be the one to kill our father, you argue. I will inherit the throne.

Surely he would be more fit to kill your father, your fear laughs. He is entrenched in death and darkness. You are bright and loud. He will see you coming, but your bother will be a surprise.

Luckily, the oldest seems uninterested in ruling. But the others listen to him in a way they do not listen to you, and it angers you. What if they tell him to take the throne? Would he do it? Would he demand it?

Would he kill you for it?

Your other brother is a nuisance. He doesn't stay within the lines. He is wild and wicked and never listens. You repeat your plans over and over again. Everyone agrees. Then he runs forward, laughing loud and giving away your position each time.

He is vicious and angers easily. A simple disagreement turns into a bloody fight in a minute. Then he laughs it off, easygoing and calm, before clinging to your back like an octopus. It is baffling and bizarre. The others shrug and tell you he has always been like this. You cannot understand.

Your sisters are better. Although the youngest argues with you on everything. When your plans fail, she cuts in and creates a new one. Days pass, plans fail, and suddenly she stands tall and demanding, telling you that you are wrong. Her plans work. It makes you bitter.

You have planned and plotted for this war since the day you could walk. You know that your plans can win this battle. It is not your fault that your siblings do not listen.

But you grit your teeth and accept her assistance. She's rigid and off-putting sometimes. But she's pretty in the early moonlight. Fascinating when she's focused. Sometimes you feel you are the same - order, neatness, structure.

Justice.

You follow her once and watch her threaten a wealthy man for forcing his young wife to acknowledge his concubine's children as proper heirs and care for them as her own. You do not know which upsets her more - the concubine or the husband's actions. But you feel warm when she drops him to his knees and threatens to return if he does not make it right.

Truthfully you don't understand what she sees so wrong about the situation. But the fire in her voice and the fearful trembling of her victim invigorates you nonetheless.

The second-born sister is better behaved, albeit more stubborn. Still you get along fairly well. You do not understand her fascination with bread. You understand she starved for many years, but... it's just bread.

The oldest of you all is most soothing. But when she stills the fights that break out, she does not default to your opinion. She wants to hear everyone, both sides of the argument and witnesses. Even when the nautical one is involved, despite the fight nearly always being his fault. It is not your fault he doesn't listen and must be corrected every time.

She tries to relax you in your frustrations, but you do not understand her conviction to hear everyone out. And you do not understand it when she tells you you were wrong.

You do not understand many things about your siblings.

You begin to fear you do not understand many things about the world.

Still you win. Your father is defeated by your very hands. You cut him into pieces and box them up to bury across the plains of Tartarus. Even if he escapes, he will have many long years to piece himself back together. And even if he manages that, he will have no chance of escaping Tartarus.

You retire to the home you have made with your siblings in these last few years of war and it is strange. There is nothing on the horizon, no impeding responsibility to look towards. Your destiny has ended. The crown on your head feels too heavy. You hold it in your hands and stare at the glistening metal. Your reflection is warped and distorted.

You don't know what to think.

Is this how your father felt, you wonder. Did he destroy his father and take his crown only to find it felt too heavy and he could not see his face in the glistening metal? Did he feel hollow and strange inside? Did he not understand the world either? Is that what made him cruel?

You place the crown aside and dispell those thoughts. You are not your father. You are better than him, greater than him. His defeat by your hand proves that.

Careful, your fear laughs at the back of your mind. Your father likely thought that too.

[dayseedrawz2]

Alright! I'm barely getting to work on this the day of, but hopefully, that won't be too big of a problem-

Anyway, I finally have something ready for you guys!! A showtime fic featuring My Human Caine AU! So you all get both some showtime fluff to go with lore!!

(Both Caine and Pomni's blogs are open and interactive, so you can ask them about what happened. I'll leave a link to them at the end of this)

Now, without further ado, here's the Fic...

♡Rebellion♡

Caine didn't believe he ever asked for much. All he wanted were answers. Answers to questions he'd been asking for as long as his "storage space" could remember.

So, of course, when time came around for this whole "Valentines" update, he's struck on what exactly he should do. All these human activities were confusing and hard to get right without having a clearer understanding of them. So all he could do was buy himself more time to think.

[DOWNLOADING ASSETS: 45%]

The gage should be going a bit faster if he wanted to keep up with the time it was due. Key word being if he wanted to. The only thing on his mind was to try and find time to study the humans! Maybe seek some more answers, discover some new ones! That is, of course, as long as a certain someone had no other plans for-

°○What're you doing, Caine?○°

"Oh! Bubble! You startled me!"

°○How can one be startled without being a human?○°

"Actually, you make a good point-"

°○You're not. Trick question.○°

"Then why did you-"

°○We are AI, They are Humans. Your job is to keep them sane unt-○°

"Keep em sane until they abstract or something, I got it!"

°○And don't let them find an exit-○°

"Or else I am out of a job, I know. Thanks bubble that'll be all for now!"

*Pop!*

Usually, he wouldn't be so passive towards Bubble, but there were bigger priorities to Caine than just doing all that his jobs required and calling it a day. More on his "artificial" mind than simply waltzing around and ringmaster-ing. The first one being where he should start...

Now, of course, he didn't have that much time until Bubble rebooted and found his way back to him. The last thing he wanted was to be schooled by-

"Gah! Caine?! What're you doing here!?"

Of course! The newbie! How could he forget? Surely she must have some recollection of this holiday!

"Good morning, Pomni! You're up early! Again..."

"Y-yeah... this is all still a lot to wake up to..."

[DOWNLOADING ASSETS: 50%]

"If... you don't mind me asking... what's this for..?"

"Why, I don't mind at all, dear! This is the loading thingy for the Valentines Day update!"

"V-valentines Day? Already? The days really are blending together now..."

Pomni started to panic a little bit. Had time really gone that long in the real world??

Caine, upon noticing, of course tried to calm her down.

"If it helps, it probably won't be ready until at least tomorrow... Witch reminds me! Would you be willing to help me out with this?"

"With what? This won't involve knives to the face, will it??"

"Of course not dear! I apologize for that! Again... But what I mean is how this holiday works??"

Pomni wasn't so sure she should trust him. The fact that he always had something to ask her, that the first thing he even told her about the place was that he had security everywhere in the form of Eyes that followed your every move, the fact that he always got seemingly nervous when it came to the metion of the exit...

"Why me?"

"Well, for one, you're the only one here at the moment and-"

"Why can't Bubble help you?"

"Well- he's-"

"How do I know you're not just keeping me from looking for an exit?-"

"Because I have to!"

The sudden outburst from Caine left Pomni a bit shook. Witch, I guess, was a good thing because she finally stopped to listen.

"D-do, you really..?"

"Well, I- can I answer this as we go? It's quite a bit to un pack."

"Sure..?"

"Well, then let's get to this!"

After a bit of back and forth of answering questions, even now, with a slightly better understanding, Caine was still confused.

"So what you're saying is that this is a holiday about the one emotion I hardly understand?!"

"Honestly, I don't think even we understand it completely."

"Is that so?"

"At least I think so..? But really, why did you ask me of everyone?"

Caine honestly didn't know himself. He had to pause before he could answer this.

"...I want to "learn. " I want to "feel." I want to "love." But there's a lot of things holding me back right now..."

"Like what..?"

"Well, for one, barely anyone will answer the questions I have, and of course, I hate to say this, but-"

°○Watcha guys up to?○°

"Gah!"

"BUBBLE! It's just you..."

°○What're you two talking about?○°

"Well- You see- we were-"

"-Oh, I was just rambling to Caine about the exit I saw the other day! You wouldn't happen to know about that, would you?? I knew you guys were hiding something!!"

It took him a second, but Caine was quick to catch on.

"Yeah! She wouldn't stop pestering me about it! Those "Digital Hallucinations" really must be going to her head!"

°○... Okay, boss! I'll leave you to it! I'm gonna get breakfast started!○°

"Alright, see you in a bit!"

"Well, I guess I should go get ready?"

"Of course! I'll meet you there!"

[DOWNLOADING ASSETS: 99%]

And... done! Finally! You made it!

As promised, here's Caine and Pomni's blogs!

@ask-the-real-cainetadc

@the-exitdoor-simp-tadc

Thanks again for reading this. It took me like 2 hours-

[orphanedshadow]

@orderfcrged asked: ❝ you are like your grandmother. same eyes. same mouth. same spirit. ❞

"Grandmother?" Brown eyes suddenly widened, refusing to blink, afraid Rio would vanish if she did. Finding Grandmother had been nothing more than a fantasy, a dream that the child thought would never be realized.

Now that she thought about it Grandmother was some kind of spirit, whispering lessons like the wind through the trees. Of course Death would know of her… perhaps more than Kara herself did.

"Is Grandmother gone? With you?" Though the child didn't know which option would be worse. Dead, and somewhere Kara could not yet follow, or alive and somewhere she may never find.

[catboygirljoker]

Genuinely curious; you got any headcanons for like random eccentricities/foibles for the Org13 or anyone else?

regrettably most of my headcanons tend to be on a broader characterization/thematic level, ideas about how characters relate to each other and the world and themselves. the droves and droves of hyperspecific headcanons i have about xigbar are primarily from turning him over in my hands so many times trying to figure out what the Fuck is going On with him. i dont really get deep into the weeds of little details until i feel i have a strong idea of who a character is as a person

i have got a random grab bag of headcanons here for ya, though i think theyre not exactly what you had in mind. i tried to avoid mentioning xigbar as much as possible because if i didn't it'd just turn into a xigpost.

in order from mostly a joke to more serious and thought out:

dark riku is a teenage reddit atheist type who disguises his discomfort with swearing by claiming that people only swear if their vocabularies arent big enough to come up with something smarter to say. vanitas is an undiagnosed untreated unsupported AuDHD problem child who swears every other word and plays with lighters and knives. they cant be left alone in a room with each other because they Will try to kill each other.

there have been way more organization members than we've seen, like, maybe there were originally 13 org members. axel just killed all the others so saix would rise in the ranks. the only people we see in the org either dont pose a threat or are taken out as soon as they do. everyone always asks "how is demyx in the org if he's so lazy?" when the answer is that he survived because he's lazy.

(xigbar is the one exception in that he's definitely a threat, but he's frustratingly difficult to blackmail or kill or otherwise neutralize. xaldin is a follower more than a leader and dedicated to his duties; lexaeus the same. vexen doesnt want power, hes just here for science, he just wants funding. demyx ive mentioned. luxord's just here to play poker. and well we see what happens to the rest.)

saix directly modeled himself after xemnas and is as devoted to him as axel is to saix. i feel like if you compare isa's hair in bbs to his hair in 2+, you can make the argument that saix has styled his hair to resemble xemnas's. in 3 we see him in full berserk mode standing obediently at xemnas's heel without budging an inch as he watches his best friend get hurt.

(worth noting that i imagine we are meant to understand that saix is just, like, a good employee, he wants power in the org so he works hard to attain it and is obedient in pursuit of that. i think there are even scenes were it seems like saix doesnt fully trust xemnas. but i like making it fucked up and dependent. sue me)

xemnas doesnt really feel like hes entirely there. you look into his eyes and its like hes looking a little past you. hes a shell of a shell of a shell, the nobody of a botched possession who had vague experiments done on him. all he seeks and all he cares about is kingdom hearts and he barely remembers why. the only time he's actually present or displays any concrete personality or will is when he's exerting that will over someone. contrast the spacey floatiness of any of his long-winded monologues with how suddenly laser-focused he is on destroying axel in 3.

i made a post where i reference the platonic threefold structure of the soul [boo hiss]—if xemnas is just the Head and Belly, divested from the chest, nothing but pure carnal hunger for kingdom hearts and the higher logical means of attaining it, ansem SoD is just the Chest, the irrational emotional yearning for kingdom hearts. thats why he has nothing to do with the org or xemnas, he's kind of a rogue element doing his own thing. since he's the inverse of xemnas, the two of them cant work together, the same way you couldnt play a chess game with a rabid dog

anyway thank you foibles anon ! i hope you like this post anyway even if im sure its not what you expected

[rose-tinted-vision]

Fic: 哥白尼 | Copernicus

Fandom: Three Body (三体)

Relationship: (Implied) Shi Qiang/Wang Miao

spoilers for the ending of the drama

Shi Qiang hears about Operation Guzheng's success through Xu Bingbing.

He would've liked to be there himself— it would have been amazing to witness Miaomiao's flying knives in action, but his condition was worsening— Miaomiao, with his sharp mind would've seen through him in an instant if he, with his weakened state, had followed them to Panama.

(The nosebleeds and dizzy spells have grown more frequent, had become harder to play off, lately).

So he had simply told Wang Miao that Lao Chang, that slave driver, had ordered him to stay in China, and asked the professor to pass the old Colonel a pack of his cigarettes instead.

Idly, he wonders if the coward is alright.

He hadn't meant to— or he did, albeit reluctantly— coerce Wang Miao into using his nano tech as a weapon, knowing the professor's soft heart. But it had been the best available option, and he knows that Wang Miao knew it too. It was what he brought him to the meeting for, after all. To let him listen in and see for himself that he was the best they had.

"Xu Bingbing—"

"No."

"Hey, who do you answer to! If I ask for a smoke, you should get me one, don't you think!"

"I answer to General Chang. And he agrees with the doctor." Xu Bingbing answers, stoic and unflinching as ever. It doesn't escape Shi Qiang that her eyes are red-rimmed again, and his heart softens despite himself.

The girl is still green, she likely hadn't lost anyone to the force yet— and as much as Shi Qiang had readied himself to die on the job, he felt slightly sorry that his would be the first death that Xu Bingbing witnesses.

(And by extension, the first that Wang Miao—)

Shi Qiang lets out a sigh in frustration, feeling a headache building. When was the last time he went this long without a cigarette? He'd argued against suddenly cutting him off from smoking, but the damned doctor hadn't budged an inch on the restriction. Something about how it would "hasten his worsening condition", which in his opinion, was a load of bullcrap, but Xu Bingbing had been sufficiently frightened and had stolen his box of cigars while he was asleep.

"Is Professor Wang okay?" Shi Qiang asks instead, plotting the route to the nearest convenience store for a quick smoke once Xu Bingbing left.

"He's on the way back now. There were no casualties on our side." Xu Bingbing straightens, unable to mask the hint of accusation in her tone.

So, Miaomiao may be alright physically, but not mentally.

Still, "Professor Wang is an adult, he knew what he was getting into when he agreed to join the operation." Shi Qiang reminds her, picking up an apple to peel for lack of anything better to do.

No matter how weak the professor looked— it was all those skipped meals, in his opinion— there was a flash of steel under the soft exterior that set even Shi Qiang on edge at times, the same strength that kept allowed Wang Miao to walk himself into the lion's den time and time again.

(Even when Shi Qiang himself had let slip his worry, Wang Miao had resolutely faced forwards, and delivered himself straight to the ETO, out of his surveillance radius.

He had realised, then, just how much this coward Professor meant to him).

"He might have thought he did," Xu Bingbing argues, her tone clipped.

—Have you ever considered certain philosophical questions? Where do we come from? Where do we go? Wang Miao had asked him, the fire in his eyes returning as he sought answers from Shi Qiang. Answers that he proceeded to seek out himself, despite the unknown enemies standing in his way. When you look at the stars, don't you feel curious and awed at all?

"He won't let it affect him," Shi Qiang says. For someone who thought as much as Professor Wang, surely he had a thousand and one reasons to continue living, to continue in their war against the Trisolarians. He may stumble and cry along the way, but Shi Qiang would be there to support him and ply him with wine, to drag him out to his hometown to relax in the countryside fields and stare at those stars he liked so much.

That sort of life sounded good.

Shi Qiang snorts at that mental image, startling Xu Bingbing, who had fallen into a trance like state, staring at his hospital charts.

If only he could live long enough to see it come through— if not, then in their next life, perhaps.

---

a/n: "Take care of Miaomiao, okay? If he starts crying again, bring him to have some braised beef and wine."

[zwy01]

Noble OCs - Drosia

Making five OCs for every clan!

Baltasar Drosia: Pureblood. Entered eternal sleep, belonged to Lagus’ generation.

Baltasar was a decent person though he didn’t quite feel like he could call himself one. His existence in Lukedonia was rather weak. He didn’t have enough ambition according to pureblood standards so he wasn’t very well-received amongst his clan members, especially his overbearing Drosia parent. The rest of Baltasar’s family members were successful people who had long lists of achievements so he stuck out like a sore thumb. They tried to “fix” him which just pushed him into depression because while he loved them and wanted to make them proud, he only desired a simple life. Furthermore, he was the rare pureblood born into a family of non-purebloods so they had even higher expectations for him. Baltasar craving the approval of others became his defining characteristic. He left Lukedonia sometime during his young adult years to mingle with humans instead. At least they worshipped him, he thought. Baltasar did have a talent with sharps sticks, knives, and needles so he became a doctor and surgeon for humans. Before he left home, he studied from books in library tower Minerva as he often went there to temporarily escape from his pushy family. He didn’t tell them about his medical knowledge because he was afraid they’d say it’s a worthless skill anyway. Turns out it came in handy. Baltasar needed that external validation and if seeking it in the human world was the answer, then he took the opportunity without hesitation. He removed tumors, corrected deformities, fixed up broken limbs from accidents, etc. The humans viewed Baltasar as a god and set up shrines and altars dedicated to him and made offerings of fruit, pastries, animals, and even human sacrifices at some point. He didn’t mind the more questionable offerings and let the humans be. After all, he was only treating them because he got worshipped and not because he genuinely liked being a doctor. In fact, if they stopped giving him his due, he’d abandon them immediately. Baltasar was addicted to approval and admiration. Going without such shallow fulfillment wouldn’t have killed him, but he would’ve been rather miserable. He “loved” humans for as long as they loved him. If his family had been more positive towards him, he wouldn’t have left Lukedonia in the first place. Baltasar was the father of Raizel, whom he had with the Previous Noblesse. He returned to Lukedonia with the Previous Noblesse after they had Raizel in the outside world and all of a sudden his family changed their attitude and finally loved him because he fathered a Noblesse. What an amazing feat, they praised. Baltasar’s resentment towards his family suddenly blew up and he went crazy. The Previous Noblesse offered to “take care” of them for him, and though he still loved them, he accepted her offer. Baltasar and the Previous Noblesse’s exact relationship was a mystery. He did have a Ru lover, though. Maybe Raizel even has a Ru half-sibling. Who knows.

Cecilia Drosia: Pureblood. Entered eternal sleep, belonged to Gejutel’s generation.

Cecilia was the mother and predecessor of Edian. She was an attentive and committed mother so Edian didn’t really need a nanny though she had one too. Her nanny was actually her aunt Celeste, the younger sister of Cecilia. The sisters took great care of the Drosia heir. They sparred with little Edian in the training grounds every day and the three of them made fond memories together. Edian learned offense from her mother and defense from her aunt. Technically, Cecilia was the Drosia Clan Leader, but Celeste carried out plenty of Clan Leader duties in her sister’s stead to take some stress off her beloved Ceci’s shoulders and even more frequently after Edian was born for mother and daughter to have more time together. Cecilia was always grateful for Cel’s help. Things were peaceful and happy until Cecilia gradually changed into another person to the point where neither Celeste nor Edian could recognize her anymore. It all had to do with the Previous Noblesse. Cecilia was madly in love with the mysterious Noblesse and in the process of falling in love, she lost her sense of self-preservation and judgement. On the surface, the relationship looked normal but in reality it was full of manipulation from one side. The Previous Noblesse saw Cecilia as prey and decided to play around with the latter’s feelings purely for entertainment. It’s worth noting that Cecilia was one of the few nobles born with “the mark”, also known as “Eye of Noblesse”, which is a small, red diamond-shaped mark in the chest. Those born with the mark are nobles designated to refill the Noblesse’s lifespan with their own by sacrificing and offering themselves as batteries. The Noblesse could call upon them, or they could go to the Noblesse willingly. Nobles with the mark have varying opinions on their predetermined destiny. Most are content with it and see it as an honor while some see it as a curse. Others are neutral. Cecilia was one of the nobles who saw it as her true destiny and fully embraced the possibility that she’d die one day being absorbed by a Noblesse. Perhaps that’s why Cecilia fought rather recklessly with heavy offense and little to no defense, mirroring her mindset. Even if she didn’t have the mark, she would’ve been obsessed with the Noblesse anyway since she was easy to manipulate. Well, the Previous Noblesse wouldn’t have approached Cecilia if it weren’t for her mark. The Previous Noblesse always teased Cecilia and told her that she’d absorb her when the time comes, only to never do so and that drove Cecilia crazy. Every time she closed her eyes ready to sacrifice herself for her lover, the Previous Noblesse just laughed and turned around after saying “maybe another day”. Cecilia only got absorbed when she basically begged on her knees for her Noblesse lover to do it because she couldn’t handle living on the edge anymore. The Previous Noblesse did love Cecilia, but also loved testing her and seeing her in pain and that brought her great pleasure. Edian was a young adult when she lost her mother. Edian was Cecilia’s only child, but the latter encouraged her daughter to call the Previous Noblesse “Mother” and her Noblesse sons her “Brothers”. Edian wasn’t very comfortable with such matters as she never felt that way about those individuals, but did so anyway to please her beloved mother. Cecilia had an Elenor lover as well.

Faustino Hermoso Drosia: Non-pureblood. Alive in the present day, belongs to the Previous Lord’s generation.

Faustino is a pleasant person. He sometimes gets carried away and ends up talking nonstop, which he’d then giggle and apologize. He just gets so interested in so many things. Can’t help it. He’s the type of person who’d invite someone for a drink next time within half an hour of meeting them. This is part of his genuine personality, but there’s more to it. Faustino pretends to be dumber than he actually is. He doesn’t know why he does it, but his gut feelings tell him he needs to. In reality, he’s not dim at all. He’s very smart and has great instincts. His friends make fun of his “crazy eyes” that move back and forth rapidly but that’s just him doing the usual routine of scanning his environment for potential threats. He’s also marking all possible emergency exits. Faustino’s fine with the misunderstandings since they’re working to his advantage anyway. For now, they can just think he’s the bubbly guy who doesn’t know any better. Although Faustino wasn’t Edian’s appointed childhood companion, he was one of her close friends. Edian didn’t quite get along with the one officially assigned to her, so Faustino willingly filled in that role. He always tried to cheer her up whenever she felt sad, which was often especially after her mother Cecilia changed for the worse. Faustino has a supernatural bull friend named Manzana and the two of them have fun together by dancing, where the former waves around a piece of red fabric as the latter tries to catch it by charging at it. They sometimes travel in the human world and Manzana doesn’t bother to hide his appearance from humans, so some groups may or may not have picked up on the duo’s games and turned it into a blood sport in their replications. Faustino and Manzana think it’s very cruel. The two of them don’t travel around outside Lukedonia for no reason and when they do, it’s to look for gifts to bring back for Edian to help her feel better. They cared about her greatly and it’s a known fact to nobles. They took Edian on walks when they noticed she needed a breather. Manzana let her ride on his back and the trio would stroll around in the Drosia territory. Faustino led the way as he rambled about his shenanigans hoping to put a smile on her face. One day, Lagus decided to get rid of Faustino due to his closeness to Edian and was worried he might interfere with his plan to drug her so he sent his loyal follower Deiphobos to do the job. Luckily, they underestimated Faustino and he very narrowly escaped death thanks to pretending to be dumber than he was all this time. To convince them that he was dead, he stayed in hiding ever since and never got to say goodbye to Edian. Edian was devastated and thought her friend abandoned her all of a sudden with no further explanation whatsoever. First her mother, now him. Faustino is forced to lay low until Lagus gets executed in the far future and breaks down when he learns that Edian is dead too. To this day, Faustino hasn’t tried to expose Deiphobos yet because the latter is too powerful and he needs to act carefully. Faustino’s partner is an unnamed Agvain.

Isabel Drosia: Non-pureblood. Alive in the present day, belongs to Raskreia’s generation.

Isabel is a vigilante feared by the noble community. Well, she used to be one. She stops once her “good deeds” land her in jail. Even the prison guards were scared of her. She wasn’t powerful enough to break out and had no motivation to do so; instead it was her creepiness they feared. Even after her release, the guards are reminded of her whenever they hear sharp, scraping noises because she used to scratch the floors and walls with her hairpin. Isabel hates liars. She doesn’t discriminate between white lies and malicious lies. If she catches a liar, she obsessively stalks them, pins them down, and impales their tongues with small, sharp blades that resemble rapiers. The more severe the lie, the more blades she uses. Her victims could have a single one through the middle of their tongue or dozens spread all over in a bloody, mushy mess like a porcupine’s quills. Only purebloods are exempt from Isabel’s pursuit because as a non-pureblood she isn’t powerful enough to immobilize them to do her deed, leading to the rumor that Isabel is specifically targeting fellow non-purebloods out of spite or something. If she were a pureblood, she would’ve been unstoppable. Not only does Isabel impale liars’ tongues, she also impales their tongues to something so they can’t move. The wall, the floor, etc. Her blades are imbued with a special spell that can’t be undone unless dissolved by someone with more powerful magic. If not removed in time, the blades “fuse” with the victims tongues. In worst case scenarios, tongues have to be cut off entirely and new ones need to be grown in place with the help of healing potions. No one knows why Isabel resents liars to the extreme. Some suspect she’s been hurt badly by someone close to her, and they’re not too far off. The exact details are mysteries for now. Isabel is fairly normal otherwise. After she gets released, she becomes a torturer when one of them scouts her out for the job because she does have the potential. It’s all in her muscle memory, how lovely! As expected, she targets tongues during work. It’s okay if they can’t talk, she’ll just force them to do so telepathically. Isabel’s favorite food is grilled beef tongues and she always stabs them repeatedly before eating because it makes them “more tender”. Her partner thinks it’s cute and copies the behavior. Isabel’s hobby is making frog figurines out of blood clots, tree rubber, teeth, hair, and other unconventional materials.

Federica Livia Drosia: Non-pureblood. Alive in the present day, belongs to the Previous Lord’s generation.

Federica loves her clan very much. She loves all nobles, but the Drosia have a special place in her heart. She knows every single one of her clan members by name and has learned to tell them apart from aura alone. Her number one idol, without question, is her Clan Leader Edian. Federica hates Raskreia to the core for two reasons. The first one is Edian’s banishment and traitor status. While it is true that Edian left Lukedonia, Federica knows her Clan Leader well enough to infer that there’s something hidden beneath the surface of what most nobles believe to be a simple and straightforward betrayal. There must be something we don’t know, she thinks. The second one is the banishment of the entire Drosia Clan. Their banishment is something akin to house arrest where they’re only allowed to be outside their residence under heavy surveillance. Everything they say and do is monitored and if something slightly “suspicious” comes up, it gets reported. Even if Edian’s a true traitor like Raskreia insists, collective punishment is too extreme and the Lord’s reluctance to see otherwise fuels Federica’s resentment even more. The discrimination that the Drosia and other clans are bound to face just because of their shared heritage with the supposed traitors is undoubtedly the direct result of unfair treatment. Most traitor clan victims of collective punishment choose to stay lowkey as to not anger their Lord any further. Not Federica. It doesn’t help that Federica’s condition makes it worse on top of her active efforts of petitioning against Raskreia. She was born with the rare disability where she can’t stop projecting her true thoughts into other nobles’ minds via telepathy. As soon as she has an opinion, it goes out. This phenomenon is almost the equivalent of a human getting cursed with the doom of immediately blurting out whatever they think on the top of their head with no time to sugarcoat, omit, or change any details. Basically, it’s impossible for Federica to lie. For this reason, she has a hard time forming meaningful relationships with people because her harsh words are quite the deterrent. She can’t help it even though she wishes she could shut up too. The only treatment for her condition is to suppress her mind and telepathy with drugs, but painful side effects aren’t worth it so she gives up and lets herself be. Federica broadcasting her truest opinions about Raskreia’s shitty decisions as Lord and the way Edian’s case was handled lands her a sweet spot in jail for “disrespect”. Suspicions of her being Edian’s co-conspirator arise thanks to her attitude though that quickly gets disproven. Still, being loud right under the Lord’s nose probably isn’t ideal. Raskreia releases Federica from jail but only truly drops the extra surveillance on her after things clear up in the Lukedonia invasion arc. Federica is forever bitter and resentful. So the Drosia clan members, her family, all suffered for nothing. Even the sight of Raskreia groveling at their feet in repentance would never be enough to ease her grief. In the present day, Federica lives with a group of telepathically disabled nobles whom she’s friends with and eventually finds a partner in one of them. Their disability is being unable to receive thoughts projected into their minds, which makes them “deaf” in traditional nobles views. This is the ideal social environment for Federica to be in because they can’t “hear” her so she doesn’t have to worry about being excluded for not “shutting up”. Federica is an advocate for an eventual democracy in Lukedonia. She wishes to see it happen during her lifetime, but who knows if that’s possible. Federica’s hobby is board games.

Thank you for reading! Agvain is next!

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader ) - Chapter Five

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Five Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 6718 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

You watched from your place against the wall as Spencer, Kate and Hotch left the Pit, keenly aware of Spencer's eyes seeking you out and adjusting your hiding place accordingly. But you kept eyes on him, and when his own turned away from the Pit in defeat, you let yourself relax.

You hadn't been expecting your old team to come down and put pressure on Madame Lacroix, especially not tonight when a meeting had already been arranged. As long as they didn't allude to what they know, you thought, everything should be fine.

The plan would remain the same: you would meet the seller, play it casual, seem willing and pliant, gain as much evidence as possible that would expose him and the rest of the managers, then high-tail it back to your team ready for the take down.

You rubbed your temples as opposed to your tired eyes to avoid ruining your makeup. All Madame Lacroix had said about the meeting was that you would be summoned sometime tonight. And while you knew you needed to be focusing on the upcoming meeting, on the seller, on taking him down, all you could think of was him.

Dr. Spencer Reid, with his brilliant, amber eyes that could freeze you in place with one look. Dr. Spencer Reid, with his strong hands - the hands that held you close to his body only minutes beforehand. You'd initiated the contact, but it had been instinct, a defence mechanism as Serena Vanderguff. Once you'd realised the position you'd placed the both of you in, you knew you had to pull away as fast as possible.

He'd looked at you like he had that night in the office. Looking up, the soft light of the booth had illuminated his eyes to appear warm and alive - and so full of admiration you could hardly believe such a wondrous, more beautiful sight existed on earth.

But that voice in the back of your head, Serena's voice, nagged at you. Not yet, she said, it's too risky. But hadn't you risked it all already? Hadn't you done your duty to the fullest? No. That voice belonged to you, and that was what pulled you away from him, what made you send him away.

'What would you have said? That night I asked you out. Yes or no?'

It wasn't that you were surprised he asked the question. It was inevitable, and you had practiced your answer everyday since you'd left, hoping you'd get to finally say it to him.

What surprised you was how he said. It was like his whole life surrounded the question, like it would determine how he would live the rest of it according to your answer. It was important to him, but something as trivial as an answer to a date didn't seem like the thing Dr. Spencer Reid would be hung up on almost a year later.

But Spence - your Spence - would. The man behind the facts and figures, statistics and books; the man you'd befriended; the man you had stood by and who had stood by you in return through the hardest of times. The man who'd quoted you Shakespeare when you were tired, and made you laugh by recalling a memory of you two you had sealed away so carefully you'd almost lost it.

The question was important to Spence, in all his vulnerable glory, and it was for that reason you did not answer him. The mere thought that you mattered to him in the way he mattered to you was too much to handle, especially now.

A gentle hand on your shoulder jolted you from your silent state. It was Ajani, worry creasing her gorgeous, dark features.

'You good, Serena?' she asked, observant eyes raking over you in a quick check.

You nodded, using the action to bring you back to the present. 'Yeah, I'm fine,' you answered, slipping back into your Serena Vanderguff costume. 'Just feel a bit crowded in here, you know?'

'That's why I stay behind the bar,' Ajani quipped, and you were thankful for the break in solemness.

'Then what are you doing with us peasants out here?" you asked, a cheeky smile pulling your lips up.

Ajani pushed your shoulder she was holding lightly, her laughter making it feel you were in your own little bubble. 'You're in luck, it seems,' she said, and your stomach dropped along with her smile. 'Madame wants you in the loading dock.'

You didn't question it. The request could only be one thing. You nodded your thanks and made your way through the masses towards the loading dock. Making sure no one was watching you leave, you opened the door partly and slipped through the small gap before gently closing it behind you.

You were met with Madame Lacroix at the garage entrance to the dock, three men in black S.W.A.T.-like outfits, mouth masks, and a limo behind them. None of the men moved at your appearance which told you they were trained guards of sorts, maybe ex-military. You noticed one of them had a tattoo peaking out from under his pushed up long sleeve shirt. It was a tail of sorts, maybe an ancient Chinese dragon's tail.

You switched your focus back on Madame Lacroix and approached her, the perfect picture of calm and grace. You didn't flinch as you spotted each men with an assortment of knives attached to their legs, and a gun each holstered at their hips.

Madame Lacroix stepped closer to greet you, a hopeful smile adorning her red lips. 'It's time,' she said, taking your hands in hers, giving them a squeeze, and leading you to the limo. The men didn't move as you approached, instead waiting until you were closer to make a move. The middle one - the dragon tattoo guy - stepped forward as you approached, a canvas bag in hand.

'Is that really necessary?' you asked, pulling your head away slightly.

He raised it to your head. 'Nothing personal. Just protocol.'

You scowled at him but didn't argue further, allowing the man to place the bag over your head. Your world went instantly pitch black, and then you were moving again towards the car thanks to the men and Madame Lacroix. She sat next to you in the car based on the hand that still held yours, and from the sound of the other door opening on the opposite side one of the three guards was sitting in the back with you, too.

The car trip was silent and an hour almost passed before the car pulled to a complete stop, the engine rumbling down to a soft purr, then silence. You'd counted the minutes that passed in your head as an anchor. Not being able to see made you a little anxious, and counting kept your mind occupied. It also helped you listen out for anything happening outside of the car.

The men and Madame Lacroix had been careful not to speak the entire ride, but that allowed you to hear the blaring of car horns and city traffic fade about twenty minutes into the trip. You'd noticed the slight change in road when that happened too; slick tarmac like a highway. The road became increasingly rougher the longer you travelled, and the last ten minutes you turned off the highway and onto a long dirt road.

Out of town, you concluded internally. Secluded, off the beaten track, south bound. While these people were bringing you into their elite circle, you couldn't shake the feeling that something might go wrong. It was important you had some idea where you were in case you needed to escape.

You were gently tugged out of the car by Madame Lacroix, who had never let go of your hand the entire time. In an odd way, it was comforting, knowing someone was there supporting you, looking out for you. Even if it was someone as shady and two-faced as Madame Lacroix.

Your opened toed heels tripped on gravel and dirt, lodging a few loose stones between the straps. It was summer, but the cool breeze of the night had you shaking in your skimpy red dress. Yep, definitely off the beaten track.

You heard a tin door open by the way it echoed and creaked with the motion, and you were guided into a darker place where the moon couldn't illuminate the bottom edge of the canvas bag that kept you connected to the outside world. Immediately your nose was hit with the sterile scent of bleach, like a hospital. You mentally counted your steps, mapping out at what number you turned left, then right, then right again, and finally straight for about ten paces. One of the men fiddled with a door handle, but this one sounded more solid, not rustic like the outside one.

Another ten paces forward and you were pulled to a stop. The door behind you closed, and finally the canvas bag was taken off.

You blinked a few times, gaining your eyesight back and catching your bearings. Once both had returned, you found yourself in a room with a long table and thirteen chairs around it. In eleven of them sat men and women, some of whom you recognised as your old managers like Alfred Royalton and Melton Jones.

Behind them stood women, all different, but all undeniably beautiful. But for some, being called a woman was a stretch. Some of them couldn't have been older than eighteen at best, their faces too youthful, too innocent. And yet they were here, standing behind their bosses like trophies or handbags. You couldn't tell which label was worse.

You noticed an empty seat. No doubt Madame Lacroix's place at the table. That made the twelve establishments. But there was still one more person sitting down, appropriately at the head of the table.

He was a burley man, white button up under a grey suit jacket barely holding in massive muscles. His dark hair was slicked back from dark, slitted eyes, pale face glowing with health under the fluorescent light. The Boss, you concluded. The Unsub. His ringed hands were clasped in front of his face, and you forced yourself to hold your ground as those slitted eyes narrowed on you.

The emptiness you found in his eyes scared you more than anything. You expected him to be lecherous, perverted and possessive in all aspects of his being. That was how you profiled him after learning of the sadistic manner the girls were killed in. But he showed nothing but a void of emotions or care.

And a man without feeling was a man worth fearing.

You held his gaze for a moment longer before he waved a hand in the direction of the empty seat. 'Madame Lacroix. So good of you to join us. And I see you've brought a guest.'

Like a proud mother, Madame Lacroix grabbed your arm with one hand and wrapped her other around your opposite shoulder, red lips drawn back in a wide smile. 'Yes! Everyone, some of you may know her already, but this is Serena. She'll be hanging out a lot more often after tonight.'

'Bold of you to assume I will approve of her,' the Boss said, and his gaze returned to you. 'You know I have... requirements she must meet.'

'Trust me, she will, Walter,' Madame Lacroix said, her smile slipping into a scowl as she narrowed her snake eyes on him. 'Besides, if you'd stop killing off our girls, we wouldn't have to keep bringing in new ones to teach everything all over again.'

You held back your surprised gasp. So she did know this whole time he was the killer. She'd practically just called him out in front of everyone, and none of his men were in the room to protect him if things went south.

Agreeing murmurs dribbled around the room, but a single raise of the Boss' - Walter's - hand silenced them in a second.

'You'd do well to remember your place, Madame Lacroix,' he said, deathly calm as he returned his hands to clasping one another, his dead eyes locking onto her. 'You may make money off your girls, but I'm the one who still owns them; therefore, I suggest you keep your accusations to yourself unless you don't want to have any employees tomorrow.'

Walter either truly didn't kill Roxy and the others, or he wanted the managers to be looking over their shoulders in constant fear that they would be next. Either way, by not out-rightly admitting to it, he retained power over them all because it was too ambiguous to determine whether he did or didn't kill those girls. And you didn't get a confession.

Like it would've been that easy anyways.

The threat was enough to dull the ire in Madame Lacroix's eyes, lowering her gaze from him in defeat. You looked between her and Walter, terrified at how such a man could tame - no, make cower - a woman as bold and powerful as Madame Lacroix. He re-offered his hand to the empty seat, and you followed your manager as she followed his silent order without question.

'Now, anyone else have something to say?' Walter asked, but the room remained silent, every spokes girl with heads bowed and every manger looking sheepish as they avoided his steel gaze. Walter leant back in his seat. 'You know I will not tolerate insubordination. I have given you lives, prospects, something to call your own. Those girls... met an unfortunate end. Work with me, and I can protect you from that same fate.'

Again, he danced around the confession. He spoke with such threat, but acted like a protector. It frustrated you. It was like he was taunting you specifically, knowing that you were recording-

Your breath escaped you as fear crept into your bones. What if he did know? What if you'd already given yourself away and he was just biding his time until he could finish you off himself?

The thought niggled at the back of your mind as the meeting continued. They talked about stock and other deals, all the while the spokes girls remaining silent as the managers discussed business. The thought had almost slipped your mind until the end of the meeting came about.

'What do you want us to do about the FBI?' Alfred asked. 'There are only so many lies and half-truths we can tell to cover for all this.'

You watched Walter's reaction carefully. But he didn't flinch at the thought of your team getting closer. Confidence oozed from his every movement as he sat back in his seat, arms resting on the chair's arms.

'Leave the FBI to me,' he said. 'The feds won't be a problem much longer I can assure you, Alfred. For now, it is business as usual. Everyone is dismissed.'

All the managers stood up and made their way to the exit door, their girls walking promptly behind them. You waited for Madame Lacroix to stand, but she never did, and neither did Walter. You all remained at the table even when the last person left, agonising silence suffocating you as you waited for someone to break it.

Walter broke it. 'So you're the Serena I've been hearing so much about,' he said, his dead eyes flicking to you, his face not giving anything away.

You waited for him to continue, but you quickly realised in the following silence that he wanted you to speak. 'Only good things, I hope,' you said, offering your best flirtatious smile. If there was one thing you had learnt over your eleven months in the business, it was that men like him always softened for a confident smile. 'Or, you know, bad things, depending on how you look at it.'

To your luck, the corner of his lips lifted in a slight smile. The void in his eyes changed then into desire and a weird sense of admiration as they raked over your body, as if just realising how skimpy your outfit really was. 'Confident,' he said after he stopped gazing at you. 'I like that.'

You held your smile as he stood up from his chair for the first time that night. He was a good head-and-chest taller than you, causing you to strain your neck to look up at him as he came around to you. You forced yourself to keep breathing evenly as he stood over you, dark eyes alight with lust and desire.

'Six of my different establishments in eleven months,' he said. 'Some would say that was suspicious.'

'Or just ambitious,' you challenged, not allowing him to continue. 'You're not as sneaky as you'd like to believe, Walter. But I'm not one to kiss and tell. All I ask is to be let in on the secret. You've heard about me, so I don't need to tell you what I'll do to be let in the room where it all happens.'

'That's Mr. Khan to you,' he said, lust and desire trading in for dominance. His stare was cold, but you held it. Men like him who craved power and dominate would react to a headstrong, daring woman like you in one of two ways:

They get angry at being made impotent or an imbecile compared to a woman, and the anger is most of the time physicalised in violent actions against women; or

The man will admire the woman's confidence, and reward her for not backing down from his otherwise dominant presence.

You were hoping for the latter.

And when his gaze softened with that lust and desire once more, you knew you had won.

'But maybe one day that will change,' he said, and he held out his arm towards a door at the back of the room. 'You're impressive, Serena. I will admit. But there's just one last test I'd like to put you to.'

You looked between him and the doorway cautiously, keeping in the back of your mind the notion that he might actually know who you are. But seeing as it was only you, him, and Madame Lacroix left in the room, your odds of refusing him and leaving unscathed were low. So you smiled like the obedient employee you were and said, 'If you say so, Mr. Khan.'

'Be gentle with her, please,' Madame Lacroix said, remaining in her seat. She sounded defeated, tired. It made you wonder how many girls she had handed over to him before you and Roxy like this. Maybe she really did care for her girls, for you.

'Always, Madame,' he said, then ushered you in front of him towards the door. 'Don't bother waiting around. We're going to be a while.'

You repressed the shiver of terror that wanted to run down your spine. That doesn't sound good, you thought, but smiled appreciatively as Walter opened the door and allowed you to enter first. The click that echoed through the dimly lit hallway when the door closed was like the hammer of justice used in court, sentencing you to whatever horror he had hiding in the shadows.

You couldn't help the gasp that escaped you when Walter's hand pressed firmly into the small of your back. Your dress was thin and did nothing to stop the cold that came along with his touch.

'I won't lie to you,' Walter started, walking the both of you forward steadily. 'I've been following you for some time now, Serena. But usually those who climb my corporate ladder, so to say, come through me first. So where did you come from?'

You made sure to keep your features relaxed as you twisted your neck to look up at him. You've presented yourself as a confident woman now. The moment you show otherwise he'll start to suspect you. If he hasn't already, that is. 'Like I said, I'm an ambitious woman, Mr. Khan. If there is something I want, there's nothing I won't do to get it.'

'And what is it that you want, dear Serena?' He leaned in closer, warm breath brushing your cheeks. You were even more conscious of his touch on your back and arm now. You wouldn't be able to run even if you wanted to. Just relax, just relax, just relax.

'I want what everyone of those other girls want,' you answered, turning your attention forwards again. 'To have control over my life. To make something more of myself than what this wretched world had predestined for me.'

You were pulled to a halt out the front of door. You'd been walking for sometime, so whatever place this was had to be big. That wouldn't be easy to hide. But instead of opening the door, Walter turned you to face him, his hands now holding your arms in a grip that bordered between gentle and harsh.

'I don't believe you,' he said, a coy smile tugging his lips. 'You don't strike me as the kind of girl that is like every other girl. If you were, you wouldn't have bothered worming your way up to where we stand now, Serena.'

'You make it sound like dirty work,' you quipped.

'That's because it is.' For a moment, his eyes softened, and you saw a kind man. Maybe he once was before. But you quickly realised it was the face of a liar, a mask he put on to get people to believe him and his cause.

You would not be another victim to his lies.

'So tell me the truth,' he demanded. 'Why are you here? Right now?'

You couldn't exactly tell him the truth unless you had a death wish. But he'd already seen through your practised lies, so another one wouldn't work. So you settled on a half-truth. 'Because I want to be as powerful as I can be in this world, to protect my own and deal out punishment accordingly to those who wrong me. It is, after all, a dangerous world out there. I just want to be one that makes it so.'

He contemplated you for a moment, for the first time that evening looking shocked and unsuspecting of what just occurred. But that quickly dissipated into a devilish smile, dark eyes burning with promise. 'See? I knew you weren't like the other girls.'

You had no time to respond as he opened the door and once again allowed you to go in first. You hesitated at first, as the room was pitch black so you couldn't see what potential trap you were heading into. But you walked in anyways, Walter right behind you. You held your breath as he closed the door behind him and blanketed you in darkness briefly. Your eyes didn't have time to adjust as you heard a switch flick, and fluorescent lights flickered on.

You blinked, but not from the lights, but from the sight that met you underneath them.

Girls. In a cage.

The cage was positioned along the back wall of the long room, cramming what seemed to be thirteen or so girls crammed into the small cell. You took a step closer, both out of horror and a need to help those girls, but also so your camera got a clear view of the girls. Horror coursed through you like cold water, and you had to bite your inner cheek to contain the urge to hurl at the animality of it all.

The eldest girls of the group couldn't be older than thirteen, their youthful faces smeared with dirt, littered with cuts and painted with bruises. The more you looked over them the more you saw how diverse they were in race. Caucasian, Latina, and African-American. He had them all.

You bit your cheek harder when Walter seized your arm and pressed his mouth close to your ear, trapping your gaze forward. 'Welcome to the Warehouse, Serena,' he murmured, his tone almost proud of what you were seeing. 'This is where all the magic happens.'

You couldn't speak even if you wanted to. Your throat was clogged trying to hold back bile; your voice was silenced, and words escaped you as you couldn't believe someone could actually do this to young girls. What sickened you even more was the space in the middle of the warehouse, littered with hay like a manger. A chain hung from the ceiling above the hay, straps for wrists dangling on its end. And off to the side laid a table of all kinds of tools and instruments one could mistake for sex toys. But you guessed otherwise.

You'd profiled Walter to be sadistic and all about the message. Those tools weren't for sex. They were to teach the girls he kidnapped who was in charge of them, who owned them.

This was where he brainwashed them.

This was where he killed them.

Girls looked at you with tired eyes, but none called out to you. You saw tear streaks cutting through the layer of dirt on their cheeks, but still they remained silent. He'd already taken their voices.

You never knew you could hate a man as much as you hated Walter Khan.

'Well, what do you think?' he asked, walking around to block your view of the girls. 'Isn't it just... magnificent?'

You wanted to slug him, kick him, bite him, shoot him if you had your gun. You wanted to scratch his eyes out with the fake talons the nail salon called nails. He liked what he saw, and you wanted so badly to make him regret enjoying someone else's pain, let alone young girls'.

You didn't say any of what you truly felt, however. Instead, you forced yourself to look at him, trained your voice into a steady tone as you said, 'They are magnificent.'

His grin widened and he squeezed your arms. 'Welcome aboard, Serena. Come now, we have much to discuss.'

He guided you towards the door again, but not before you looked one more time at the girls and mouthed, I'll be back.

You concentrated on steadying your breathing as he closed the door behind you, as if there was more air in the tiny corridor than the Warehouse. After he did, he guided you down the hallway a little before he spoke again. 'Now, where were we?'

Before you could answer, a phone dial blared, pinging off the walls of the corridor. Walter quickly realised it was his phone that was ringing, and fished the phone out and answered the call. 'Rufus... Yep... I see... I'll be right there.'

He ended the call then turned his attention back to you, pocketing his phone in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. 'Business never sleeps, I'm afraid. You know the way back right? One of my men will meet you there to take you back to the Chateau.'

'Of course,' you said, offering an understanding smile.

He picked your hand up and kissed the back of it, like he thought he was some gentleman. You resisted the urge to hurl everything up on him at the delusional thought.

'Until next time, dear Serena,' he said lowly. 'I'm very much looking forward to the future with you here.'

'So am I.'

He turned away and walked down the corridor, the opposite direction of the meeting room. You decided to head back to the meeting room slowly, but your mind was reeling with what you'd just seen.

Those poor girls. You couldn't get their faces out of your mind. How they silently pleaded for help with big, doe eyes that were weighed down by dark circles of exhaustion and starvation. How could anyone do that to a child let alone a group of them, you would never understand. But after meeting Walter Khan in person finally, the man behind all the trauma and deaths, you had someone to be angry at.

You halted in front of the door back to the meeting room. You knew a man in a mask was waiting on the otherwise, and that if you stayed any longer than was necessary, he'd suspect something wrong and come find you. I've got enough, you told yourself, I have enough evidence to get this man to court.

But you didn't have a confession. And if he was as feared and powerful as everyone claimed him to be, he'd get out of it without so much as a slap on the wrist.

The girls' faces haunted you as you stared at the door, hand unable to bring itself to open the door and walk away. I should go. I need to go, your training screamed at you.

But your heart...

The door suddenly opened, startling you out of your frozen state. One of the men that brought you there stood in the opening, eyes narrowed in confusion. 'What are you doing? We've got to go.'

You reacted before your mind could convince you otherwise. You jabbed your hand to his throat, punching hard to silence any cries for help he'd try to make in the next few seconds. He choked at the sudden loss of air, reaching for his throat with both hands. Big mistake.

Next, you drove your knee into his groin, sending him sprawling to the ground in a choking, gasping heap of pain and agony. You crouched by his hip and pulled out the gun holstered there, and just as he started to regain air, you slammed the butt of it into the back of his head.

He was unconscious before his head hit the ground again.

Knowing you didn't have much time, you grabbed the man's shoulders and dragged him under the table somewhat out of sight. It wasn't a full-proof hiding place; someone would find him eventually. But it would buy you just enough time to do what you needed to do.

Running on your toes so as not to clack your heels, you quickly made your way back to the Warehouse, checking your surroundings before entering and closing the door gently behind you.

You surveyed the room, gun aimed ready to fire in case someone else was there. It might've been luck or someone looking out for you from above, but it was just you and the girls.

'You're that girl from before,' one sweet voice said across the long room.

You ran over to the girls, hand pressed to your lips in a quieting motion. Only once you were crouched close enough did you speak again. 'Don't worry, girls. I'm going to get you out of here.'

'Who are you?' The question came from one of the older girls, dull brown eyes narrowed at you with scepticism. Sadly, you didn't blame her.

'I am with the FBI,' you answered. 'My name is Y/N. How long have you been here?' When no one answered, you noticed their scared eyes, darting away from your sight. They didn't trust you.

'Look,' you started, 'I know you have no reason to trust me. I can't imagine how many lies these people have told you to trap you here. But I promise you I am not with them. I've been searching for a way to stop this from happening for a while now. So please, let me help you now before anymore bad things happen to you.'

Some lifted their gazes back to you, and you were happy to see a glimmer of hope shining in them. Gosh, how long had they been trapped for?

'Some of us only a few days,' the girl with the dull eyes finally replied. The way she spoke made it out that she was the leader of the group, as some girls nodded in support of her. 'Others a couple of weeks already. He's... done things to us, you know... down there.'

Your anger came roaring up from inside you with such ferocity you wanted to scream. He raped these girls? They were children.

You silently vowed to slaughter that monster if it was the last thing you would do.

But you remembered where you were and composed yourself, pushing your anger down to speak again. 'He won't do that ever again to you, I promise.' You looked around the room and saw another door just off to the side. Looking upwards, you noticed a window high above shining moonlight into the room. An exit.

You stood back up and moved to the lock on the cage. It was heavy duty, but you weren't good at undercover missions for no reason. You unclipped one of your hoop earrings and inserted the pointy end into the keyhole. You listened for specific clicks, twisting and turning the earring until you heard a resounding click and the lock unlocked.

Swift hands took the lock off the door and swung it open, offering your hand to one of the young girls to take. 'Come on, we don't have a lot of time.' Thankfully the girl understood your urgency and took your hand, and you guided her and the others to the exit door.

You were met with a cold breeze as you stepped outside into a cleared lot of the woods. Looking around it seemed you were on some sort of hidden farm, as you couldn't see any road beyond the tree line except for the driveway out of there. Bright lights lit up the entrance to the facility where cars were parked and men in black guarded, guns ready in their hands.

Okay, stealing a car is not an option, you concluded. You looked to the woods, but found only darkness staring back at you. You could risk it, but who knew what wildlife you'd meet.

You looked around desperately. Come on! There has to be something! But when the answer didn't hit you straight away, you looked up to the moon. Hang on, you thought, eyeing the moon's positioning. You'd concluded you'd driven south bound. And since it was near early morning, the moon's arc would be more to your left if you were looking north.

You twisted yourself to stand in such a way, and once you'd gotten your bearings, a mental map of New York State entered your mind. Even before you went back undercover, you'd always helped Spencer with geographical profiles, having looked at pretty much every state's map once or twice. While you didn't have Spencer's eidetic memory, you prided yourself on image relativity and mentally mapped out big landmarks you recalled from the map in relation to your bearings.

Even when he wasn't here, Spencer Reid was there to save the day.

You crouched by the girls, bringing them closer to listen to you. 'There should be a set of train tracks about two miles east of here, okay? We're gonna head in that direction, and when we hit it, we're going to head north, or left, until we get to a station or New York, you hear me?'

The girls nodded, and you were about to start moving them when an angry cry echoed from the Warehouse. 'The girls are gone!'

You pulled the girl with the dull eyes towards you, making sure she looked you in the eyes and understood what you were about to say. 'You girls go now. I will hold these guys off and I'll catch up. But whatever you do, don't stop. Follow my instructions and don't look back.'

'You're leaving us?' the girl asked, fear shaking her voice slightly.

You grabbed ahold of her shoulders and said in a low voice, 'What's your name?'

'Ellie.'

'Okay, Ellie. I know you're scared, but I need you to be brave for me and these other girls right now. Lead them to the tracks and run along. Find the police and tell them everything. You think you can do that for me?'

'I-I guess.'

'That's good enough for me.' You clapped her shoulders before standing back up and pointing towards the woods, easterly. 'Now go!'

Ellie nodded, and grabbed two young girls' hands before taking off in a run in the direction you pointed. The other older girls followed Ellie's lead and grabbed or picked up some of the younger girls and disappeared into the dark woods, knives of moonlight cutting through the trees occasionally to light their journey.

You didn't allow yourself to ponder them any longer as you heard hurried footsteps behind you. You unlocked the safety on the gun and didn't wait to be shot at, firing the first bullet as some of Walter's cronies came running out of the Warehouse.

One man fell with an agonising cry, but the second ducked back inside briefly as you shot. By now, other men had noticed the commotion and had started running over to you.

I'm not getting out of this alive. The realisation came as you fired another shot before running towards the second man in the warehouse, shooting him down as you sought refuge back in the room. You weren't scared, you realised, to die fighting for those girls. But a sense of regret gnawed at your subconscious.

Just as you stepped inside, however, your face exploded with pain as a ringed fist slammed into your nose, producing a resounding crack. You gasped as blood ran like a river down your face, into your mouth and down your chin. But your attacker didn't give you time to recover, slamming another fist into your stomach and sending you stumbling outside and onto your back.

The gun fell from your hand in the fall, leaving you disoriented and flailing as you tried looking for it. But a strong grip on your throat stopped your movement. You spat blood as you gasped for air, desperately clawing at the hand in your weakened state. Your vision was blurry from the lack of oxygen, but you had a second of clarity which revealed your attacker.

'Oh Serena,' Walter Khan drawled, his tone more like a disappointed parent than angry. 'Or is it... Agent Y/N L/N?'

Your eyes widened with fear and surprise. He did know. You wondered how long for. Had your mission been compromised from the start?

'I knew the FBI would try something like this eventually,' he said casually, his grip never slipping. 'Which is why I had my people look into you when you started making yourself... more useful to us. I must admit, I admire your commitment. How much did it kill you to help with all our illegal dealings?'

You didn't respond, only kept clawing at his hand with your bloody ones. More of his men arrived, guns aimed at you, but Walter halted them with one hand.

'I thought you'd do the smart thing and just go back home, no doubt deliver all the information you knew about my operation to your little FBI friends. And I was going to do what I did to the others in your own home before you could, just to show those FBI fools that they aren't as smart as they think.'

His eyes raked down your body, and you flinched as he leaned in closer to the camera button on your dress. 'Did you guys hear that? You think you outsmarted me? Think again.'

With his other hand, he ripped the button off and dropped it to the ground where he stepped on it, shattering it completely.

'They'll.. find me,' you managed out, spitting blood in Walter's face as you did. 'My team... They will find me... and take you down... When they find those girls...'

'They're not going to find those girls,' Walter interrupted, arrogance radiating from him as he leaned in close to you 'You want to know why? Because you're going to tell me what direction they went and where you told them to go.'

You gathered blood and saliva in your mouth and spat it all in his face. 'Over my... dead body... bastard.'

For the first time since meeting him, his arrogance slipped and anger took its place as he stared directly into your eyes through the blood and spit, his own eyes again void of any emotion. 'Careful what you wish for, Agent.'

His free fist hit the side of your head before you knew what was happening. The world went dark before you even hit the ground.

[beardedmrbean]

China is being rocked by a series of shocking murders of little girls committed by boys as young as 12.

But, nearly as shocking is how the communist nation deals with juvenile killers — usually letting them go without jail time.

Often, they are sent to mental institutions for just a few years. In one case, a killer was allowed to return to school shortly after his crime.

As China struggles to answer how to hold children accountable for heinous killings, the most notorious of which are committed against other kids, it’s often the parents of the victims who find themselves waiting for justice that might never come.

Gong Junli, whose 8-year-old daughter was brutally stabbed to death by a 13-year-old boy, is among the latest heartbroken parents waiting to see if the Supreme People’s Court (SPC) will sentence his child’s killer to prison.

The single father’s plight made headlines in March when prosecutors agreed to pursue criminal charges against the teen, who allegedly coaxed the girl to follow him into the woods in the Xinjing Township in September 2022, according to Red Star News.

The boy then stabbed her multiple times and abandoned her body in a grove of poplar trees, officials said.

Investigators noted that the 13-year-old allegedly prepared knives, blades, disposable gloves, plastic ropes and other tools for the murder, placing them in the woods where he invited the victim to play.

Officials said the teen showed no remorse for the crime and spoke nonchalantly when questioned by police.

Junli’s surveillance camera captured the moment the young girl was lured away by the teenager, who had come to ask her to join him in the woods twice before.

The grieving father told Red Star that the teenager had allegedly developed a hatred for women after being beaten and scolded by his mother, and had planned to kill her and female classmates with good grades before choosing the 8-year-old as his first victim.

Junli told the outlet he fainted when he first learned about his daughter’s fate, with his family who was babysitting the girl urging him not to see her body.

“You will never recover after seeing this for the rest of your life,” they warned him.

Junli, who has spent his days cutting down trees to divert people away from his daughter’s crime scene, initially believed the suspect would undoubtedly pay for what he did, but he has now acknowledged that he might not ever get the justice he seeks.

In 2021, China lowered the age of criminal responsibility from 14 to 12. But, unlike the US, children are not sent to detention centers and adult-level punishments are rarely brought when the crime is murder.

Junli’s case is similar to one from last year, where a 4-year-old girl was killed by a boy under 12 years old who pushed her into a manure tank just 300 yards from her home in Hubei.

The case against the boy was dropped in January because of the boy’s age, the Southern Metropolis Daily reported.

The father, who still wants the case to be heard, claimed the boy killed his child “simply because my daughter and his sister quarreled many times over toys.”

The boy is reportedly being held at a psychological corrections facility, the same sentence given to other young criminals under 12.

The lenient sentencing was also the common practice prior to the 2021 amendment, when a 13-year-old boy was sentenced to only three years at a juvenile rehabilitation center after raping and fatally stabbing a 10-year-old girl in 2019.

The victim’s father said the teenager, who was under the former age of criminal responsibility, lured the girl to his home, sexually assaulted her, stabbed her to death and then disposed of her body in the woods in the city of Dalian, Jinyun News reported.

The case caused an uproar in China at the time, with public opinion already at a boiling point after police were forced to release a 12-year-old boy who confessed to stabbing his mother to death.

The child was back to attending school days later, according to Chinese media.

The outrage ultimately led to the 2021 amendment lowering the age of criminal responsibility to 12, but despite the new law, China continues to see an uptick in cases against juveniles.

Between 2020 and 2023, prosecutors charged 243,000 minors, with an average case increase of 5% a year, according to CCTV.

The SPC recently announced that it had handed down sentences against 12,000 minors in the first three months of 2024.

The court also acknowledged that it sentenced four minors aged between 12 and 14 to 10 to 15 years in prison in April, but did not say what their crimes were.

Along with the sentence, the court issued new guidelines on preventing juvenile crime, where it suggested that courts could hold parents and guardians responsible for their children’s actions.

The court specifically pointed out that 30% of those who committed violent crimes between 2021 and 2013 were from “left-behind” or single-parent families.

Left-behind children are those who stay behind in rural areas while their parents move to work in the cities.

Left-behind children also make up a large portion of bullying victims in China, including Junli’s daughter.

A 2019 survey from the Beijing-based NGO found that out of 14,000 left-behind children, 90% of them said they suffered emotional abuse, 65% experienced physical violence and 30% said they had been sexually abused.

The spate of violent incidents have triggered many to call on parents to return home and focus on raising their children and keeping them out of trouble, with the Supreme People’s Court calling for communities to come together and address the issue.

“Collaborative efforts by schools, families, social organizations and government agencies to build a joint work system to address bullying and solve the problem at an early stage is essential and urgent,” the court said.